


A Song of Ice and Fire

by TrishArgh, zilia



Category: Captain America (Movies), Fantastic Four, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Everything would be better if people would just talk about their feelings, Humour, Irresponsible use of fire powers, Johnny Storm is a good guy, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Oblivious idiot best friends in love, Oral Sex, Sam Wilson the reluctant counsellor, Terrible fire puns, This means you Steve, cap rbb, illustrated with fanart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 15:46:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15099959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrishArgh/pseuds/TrishArgh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zilia/pseuds/zilia
Summary: Bucky Barnes meets Johnny Storm and dates, terrible jokes, and an oblivious best friend ensue.





	A Song of Ice and Fire

**Author's Note:**

> **Zilia:** There are so many things I want to call this pairing. WinterFlame. WinterTorch. BarnesStormer. Anyway. 
> 
> This was an absolute blast to write. I was so lucky to get trish's art: not only is she an amazing artist (who even did awesome sexy extra art for the fic!) but also a great person to work with and bounce ideas off and also very tolerant of my disorganisation, for which I am very grateful.
> 
> Thanks are also due to my amazing beta claudia_flies, who a) convinced me to sign up for this in the first place, b) actually did the signing up for me so I didn't have to wake up at argh o' clock, and c) spent ages discussing this with me, beta'd it at short notice, and was a general all-around cheerleader. You're the best, dude!
> 
>  **Trish**  
>  Thanks a million to my wonderful partner in WinterTorch-Crime Zilia for writing the most perfect fic and giving life to my artwork. It was a pleasure to work with you. Thanks for everything!  
> A big hug goes to the rbb mods and the rbb slack and my fellow artists who are always supportive and I love you to death! Special thanks to Fox and Moony who always sure I keep sane and Bucky only has one head  
> Ps.: I just call this pairing A Hot Mess :D

“Bucky, are you nearly ready?”

 

Bucky sighs.

 

“Yeah, just a minute,” he calls.

 

He _is_ ready, but the sound of Steve’s voice makes him want to crawl back under the bedcovers. He contemplates telling him that he doesn’t feel up to the party, but he knows that all that will accomplish is that Steve will insist on staying behind too, and then Bucky will watch TV while Steve watches Bucky, entirely failing to be surreptitious about it. It’s time for desperate measures.

 

He swallows his pride, picks up his phone, and texts Wilson.

 

_I need you to do something for me._

 

After a moment, his phone buzzes with a response.

_hello to you too barnes_

_so nice to be having a conversation with you_

 

Bucky rolls his eyes.

 

_OK OK sorry. Please can you do me a favour?_

This seems to mollify him, because his next message is a lot less sarcastic.

 

_sure man, what’s up?_

 

_Can you get rid of Steve for me?_

 

_isn’t that more your line of expertise?_

Bucky rolls his eyes again, because _fuck you, Wilson_ , seriously, but he needs help on this, and this is his best chance.

 

_He keeps following me everywhere. I just need some space. Please can you distract him at Stark’s thing today?_

 

The dots that indicate Wilson is typing flash at the top of the screen for a long period of time before he finally decides what he wants to say and sends the message.

 

_yeah i’ve noticed he sticks to you like glue. been wondering whether that was healthy for you both. i’ll distract him, give you a break._

 

_Thanks._

 

_no problem man. see you later._

 

That had gone better than expected. Bucky sighs with relief. There’s no love lost between him and Wilson, for sure, but he knows he’s about the only person he can trust to help him with this and not go overboard. Natalia, maybe, he could also trust, but unlike her, Wilson knows when to let something drop. And if he doesn’t, he works it out pretty quickly whenever Bucky glares at him.

 

Natalia is impervious to the glare.

 

“How about now, Bucky?” Steve calls from the other side of the door.

 

Bucky rolls his eyes and bites down on his tongue to stop the retort he’s itching to give. He _knows_ Steve is only doing this because he cares, but it’s difficult to be patient. Ever since he arrived in Avengers Tower, Steve has been following him like an anxious sheepdog, shooing the other Avengers away from him whenever they do anything more than greet him politely, flapping his arms furiously and glaring whenever the conversation turns to more than small talk. He knows it’s coming from a good place, but it’s exhausting. And Steve never lets him go anywhere alone, insisting on accompanying him like some kind of maiden aunt chaperone.

 

It takes constant and tremendous self-control not to remind Steve that not only was he a notorious killer, but he also had a couple of decades of pre-assassin life to get his head around such things as socialising and grocery shopping. Every time he suggests so much as a walk around the block by himself, Steve flaps and sighs and frets so much that it just isn’t worth it. Every time Bucky goes anywhere at all, Steve insists on accompanying him and remaining within sight of him at all times, even when in the Tower. It’s stifling.

 

“Are you sure you want to go? We don’t have to, we could just stay behind and watch Netflix or something…”

 

It’s a small lunch-time gathering of local celebrities on the superhero scene, nothing too intense. He’s been looking forward to it pretty much ever since Stark had announced it just to have the chance to meet some new people to talk to.

 

When he steps out of his room, he almost knocks Steve over where he’s keeping vigil outside Bucky’s bedroom door.

 

“Steve. I _want_ to go. Please. Look, I’m all ready and everything.”

 

He gestures to his outfit, which is really pushing the boat out: nice jeans, a button-down, a soft blue sweater. Very different from his usual uniform of sweats and hoodies. The clothes had appeared in his closet the day after he moved in – probably thanks to Pepper – but he had ignored them until today, having decided that it was finally time to push back against Steve and start dressing like a person with self-respect.

 

Steve looks him up and down and then looks away quickly. He doesn’t look very convinced, which is enough to make Bucky insist. Can’t pull out now that Wilson is involved; he’d never shut up about it.

 

“ _Steve_. Come on. Let’s go.”

 

They walk down the corridor to the elevators, and Bucky forces himself to keep pace with Steve instead of letting himself be herded. When they arrive at the communal floor fifteen floors up, it’s buzzing the sound of chatter and music. Bucky estimates about thirty people as he scans the room to check his exit routes, out of force of habit, and he recognises most of them.

 

He’s got to hand it to Wilson, he’s subtle. Doesn’t come up straight away, makes it look natural, and then engages Steve in easy conversation. Then he gradually leads him over to the other side of the room, and little by little Bucky slips away until he’s made it to the bar. He rummages in the fridge to get himself a Coke. He snaps it open with his metal fingers and takes a long drink, enjoying being allowed to be part of the scenery for once instead of Steve helicoptering over him at all times. He looks around the room, tapping his fingers absently to the beat of the music, enjoying the atmosphere and the relative freedom.

 

Seconds before he hears the voice, he senses someone moving into his personal space, and he looks up in time to hear someone say, “Well, I thought I’d be the hottest guy here, but it looks like I’m wrong.”

 

He’s ready to roll his eyes at the arrogance of the guy – although, on closer inspection, he is _really fucking hot_ – but after a second he grins, realising who he is.

 

“Does that line ever work for you?”

 

The Human Torch shrugs and grins back. “Sometimes. It’s usually worth a try.” He holds out his hand. “Johnny Storm.”

 

Bucky smiles back and takes it. “Bucky Barnes.”

 

He sees Johnny’s eyes widen slightly at that and then take in the metal arm. “Oh, wow! Hi! I didn’t know you’d be here.”

 

“It’s my first time out in a while,” Bucky says. _Without my guard dog, anyway._ He makes a quick check and sees that Steve is still safely occupied with Wilson on the other side of the room.

 

“Glad you could make it,” Johnny says smoothly, with a megawatt smile that’s just on the right side of cheesy. Is he…flirting?

 

Yes. Yes he is.

 

“Me too,” Bucky says, with the ghost of an echo of his former swagger. It’s been an age, but it’s apparently like riding a bike; some kind of autopilot just takes over, and he knows how to pitch his voice, how to tilt his head, how to raise his eyebrow. It helps that he’s working with an interested audience.

 

“So, what do you do for fun around here, Bucky?” Johnny asks him.

 

Bucky has to stifle a laugh, because the idea of having _fun_ isn’t really something he’s familiar with, although he doesn’t want to admit that.

 

“I, um, don’t get out much,” he says. “Not very much at all, actually.”

 

“Now _that_ is a shame,” Johnny says, and he leans closer, closer than anyone but Steve has been to Bucky in a long time. Bucky’s surprised to notice that he doesn’t feel uncomfortable with it. In fact, it’s almost embarrassing how exhilarating it is to talk to someone who isn’t Steve and who doesn’t seem to expect him to either burst into tears or start murdering people left right and centre. Just a normal, flirty conversation.

 

“Haven’t had much of a chance recently.”

 

Plus, Johnny really is quite attractive. Bucky’s seen pictures, of course – hard to avoid someone as fame-hungry as the Human Torch, who puts even Tony Stark’s attention-grabbing behaviour to shame – but he’s never seen him in the flesh.

 

Even in his own brain, the word _flesh_ sends a tingle down his spine, sparking off feelings he’d long since forgotten.

 

“So tell me, where would you go if you could?” Johnny’s asking him, and he has to force himself to focus on his eyes, not to zero in on his lips, because suddenly he really really wants to kiss them.

 

Bucky’s just considering his response when of course Guard Dog Rogers swoops in out of nowhere and puts himself between Johnny and Bucky.

 

“Hey, Cap!” Johnny says, smiling at him; but a very different sort of smile to the ones he’s been giving Bucky, Bucky notices.

 

“Torch,” Steve says curtly, with a little nod. “Bucky, are you OK here?”

 

“Yeah, I’m doing great,” Bucky says, because he is. And then he hears himself say “Actually, Johnny and I were just going to go out and get coffee.”

 

 _Where did that come from?_ Both Johnny and Steve look at him completely dumbfounded. He’s a little surprised himself, honestly. Johnny recovers first.

 

“Sure we are,” he says easily, reaching out to lay a hand on Bucky’s forearm for a second, and his hand feels warm, really warm, even through his clothes. “Great party and all, but I think I’d prefer somewhere a little more quiet.”

 

It was one thing when it was just the two of them, but Bucky flushes at this, feeling awkward to have anyone, least of all Steve, witnessing it. Steve seems to agree.

 

“Bucky, I really don’t think…” he starts to protest, his voice growling like a motorcycle engine revving up, but Bucky’s feeling reckless now, sensing freedom, and he turns to go.

 

“Nice seeing you, Cap,” Johnny says as he’s walking away. “Let’s go, Bucky.”

 

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve hisses, but Bucky, committing to this madness, mutters out a wimpy “bye Steve,” and follows Johnny out.

 

Sam, who has clearly seen what’s just happened, stalks across the room to intercept Steve, throwing Bucky an apologetic glance as he does so.

 

He and Johnny walk together in silence for the entire length of the corridor. He’s not really sure what to say to him. Should he apologise for what amounted to asking him out on a date? He’d been enjoying the flirting, but hadn’t really been sure of where to take it, or whether Johnny had intended it to go anywhere; Steve’s sudden appearance had forced his hand. He hasn’t picked someone up like this in decades. What’s the etiquette for this in the twenty-first century? It’s the middle of the day, they can’t exactly go dancing.

 

When they get to the elevator, Johnny throws him a quizzical glance.

 

“How about that coffee, huh?”

 

“You really want to?”

 

“Well, not that it wasn’t worth enough just to see Captain Killjoy get his patriotic panties in a bunch, but yes, I really want to. _Really._ ”

 

Shit, it’s been such a long time since he flirted with anyone. He feels almost choked with awkwardness, like all of the different parts of his body are suddenly the wrong size. He tries to smile, but it probably comes out more of a grimace.

 

“Great.”

 

“Is he always that protective of you?”

 

Bucky sighs. “He doesn’t mean to be a jerk. It’s just that Steve’s worried people are going to give me a hard time. For, you know, before.” _Being a brainwashed mass-murderer and agent of supreme chaos._

 

“He knows you can look after yourself though, right? I mean, that was kind of your whole deal.”

 

Bucky gives a hollow laugh. “I think he knows, yeah, but he finds it comforting to have someone to look after. Maybe he feels he owes me, after all I did for him before? I mean, I didn’t mind!” he adds, hastily. “I was happy to! Stupid punk never had much sense, he needed someone looking out for him, always in and out of trouble…” He realises he’s spilling his soul to an almost-stranger, and stops awkwardly.

 

“Well, I’m not so interested in him just now,” Johnny says. “I’m interested in you. So. Coffee? Where’s good?”

 

“Actually, I have no idea.” He’s never left the Tower just to get coffee. In fact, he’s not sure he’s ever left the Tower by the front door.

 

“Lucky for me, I do. Or the internet does.” Johnny is rummaging in his pocket for his phone. He unlocks the screen and Bucky catches a glimpse of the wallpaper: a picture of Johnny in sunglasses, grinning and shooting flaming finger guns. It’s such a ridiculous thing to have as your own phone background that Bucky can only be impressed. “Tell me where to get good coffee near here, phone.”

 

An automated voice answers, informing him that there’s a coffee bar three blocks away which has a five-star rating. Johnny nods with satisfaction, then he notices Bucky’s questioning look at his talking phone.

 

“Yeah, I know, it’s nowhere near as good as Jarvis, doesn’t have the personality or anything, but once Reed found out Tony had his own AI, he had to make a version for himself. It’s crazy, the rivalry they have. This thing’s a few steps up from Siri, but that’s it. Mind you, I _do_ like having a lovely lady I can carry around in my pocket that tells me what to do.” He winks.

 

Seriously, this guy is _non-stop,_ but Bucky finds himself liking it. He’s a little overwhelming, sure, but there’s something magnetic about his confidence. He remembers when he used to feel that way himself, long ago.

 

“OK,” he says, reaching out to call the elevator. “Coffee it is.”

 

With an easy, but deliberate, grace, Johnny raises his hand to lay it on top of Bucky’s where it rests on the call button. His touch is light, and his hand is so _warm_. Not that surprising, of course, given his powers, but it’s still a surprise to feel it in person.

 

Bucky spreads his fingers a little, and Johnny slots his in between them, so that they’re kind of holding hands against the wall. It’s weird, but nice. Really nice. They stand like that, not saying anything, until the elevator arrives and they step into it. But Bucky doesn’t let go of Johnny’s hand.

 

He knows where this could go, if he lets it, and suddenly, he decides that he wants to let it.

 

“You know, I’ve got coffee in my apartment too,” he says, heart in his mouth, and Jesus, he felt more relaxed jumping onto a train in 1944 than he does just now.

 

Johnny’s face breaks out in a delighted, filthy grin.

 

“That’s an _excellent_ idea. Which floor are you on?”

 

Bucky can’t quite keep his hand from trembling, but he finds the right button and pushes it. Johnny gives his hand a small squeeze, and it makes a shudder shoot down Bucky’s spine. Pathetic, to be so excited about such a small touch. They’re only in the elevator for a few seconds, and Johnny keeps the pressure up around Bucky’s finger, his thumb stroking gently over the back of Bucky’s hand, and it’s possibly the most erotic thing that’s ever happened to him.

 

Well, _in a really long time_ , at least.

 

He knows what’s going to happen once they’re back in the apartment, because Johnny hasn’t exactly been subtle, but it’s still a surprise when it does, somehow. Mercifully Steve isn’t there – _thank you, Wilson, I owe you a beer_ – because Bucky doesn’t have time to work out how to get rid of him when Johnny corners him in the entrance hall. Johnny’s hands are warm on his hips even through his jeans as he holds Bucky there, pulling him close, crowding into him and dragging a line of kisses over Bucky’s throat. Bucky runs his hands through Johnny’s short, bristly hair, liking how soft it feels. It’s so good to be this close to another person, to just feel and not think. He can’t remember the last time he did this.

 

When Johnny kisses him, his mouth, hot and burning and insistent, has an aftertaste of

smoke.

 

They make out leisurely, almost lazily, pressed up so close there’s no space between them. Bucky can’t get enough of him, his hands running over every part of Johnny they can reach. His shoulders are so broad, his waist so narrow, his ass so juicy. He can’t choose what he likes the best. Johnny’s a great kisser, confident and relaxed, making happy little noises as he explores Bucky’s mouth.

 

“You wanna take this somewhere more comfortable?” he asks.

 

Bucky can hardly speak, so he nods as enthusiastically as he can, so hard he almost gives himself a headache. Johnny laughs.

 

“Where’s your bedroom then?”

 

Bucky doesn’t answer, just gets them there, and they bounce from wall to wall like a pair of pinballs, joined at the lips, until they make it to the door and tumble inside. They have to separate then, and Johnny takes in Bucky’s room, the big bed, the sparse possessions, yesterday’s laundry in a pile on the floor.

 

Bringing someone into his private space like this, let alone a guy he’s only just met, brings him up short a moment. He hasn’t been with another person in so, so long, and he’s suddenly struck by how fast this has all moved. He didn’t even know this guy a couple of hours ago, and although it wouldn’t be the first time he’s slept with someone this soon after meeting them, the last time he did that, he didn’t look like this.

 

“You ok?” Johnny asks, sensing his hesitation. He’s taken a couple of steps back, giving Bucky space, and he’s grateful for the chance to breathe for a moment, get his breath back.

 

“It’s been kind of a while,” he admits. “Like, a _long_ while.”

 

“Are we talking…?”

 

“Multiple decades.”

 

“But you _have_ done it before?” Johnny laughs at Bucky’s incredulous expression. “Hey! It’s polite to ask!”

 

“ _Yes,_ I’ve done it before. Some of it more than once.”

 

In fact, his last memory of getting any action at all is the night before he shipped out for war, when, in a fit of pique at his best friend’s stubborn insistence on trying to get himself killed again, he’d abandoned both his reputation as a nice boy and his preference for men and taken home Steve’s date as well as his own, ending up in bed with both of them, where they’d taken it in turns to share his cock and his tongue. The memory of _that_ is mostly what’s been keeping him going for the past seventy years. There had been nothing during the war; too tricky to find the right kind of guys, too dangerous to risk getting it wrong. And afterwards, well. First he’d been a weapon, and then a recluse. The idea of getting any pleasure that wasn’t self-administered had been the furthest thing from his mind before today.

 

Johnny’s still watching him while he sorts through all of this in his mind. Bucky wishes his brain could just shut up and let him enjoy this, but something in him compels him to prod, to stall.

 

“Why are you doing this, Johnny?”

 

Johnny raises an eyebrow at him, still keeping his distance, though his body language is open, welcoming. “Because I want to. Because you’re hot. Because it’ll be fun.” He stops. “It _will_ be fun, right? You want this? We can stop right now, if not.”

 

“I want it.” It’s true, he does. He takes a step closer, so that they’re almost flush with one another, close enough to kiss again, and they do, softer this time, more exploratory than in the hallway.

 

“Doesn’t have to be the world’s greatest love story,” Johnny says, in between kisses. “Can just be two guys having a good time.”

 

“The twenty-first century didn’t invent the concept of casual sex, you know.” He bites Johnny’s lower lip in gentle admonishment. “You don’t have to explain it to me.”

 

Johnny’s laughter is almost as addictive as the taste of his skin, and Bucky chases it around his mouth with his lips and tongue. It’s so good just to focus on feeling for a change, not worrying about what else is hiding in his head or the tense silences with Steve or dwelling on the guilt of decades. Just feeling, inhabiting his body, enjoying what it can do, what someone else can do to it. Being himself. He grows bolder, wants more, wants to see more, feel more. His fingers find the hem of Johnny’s t-shirt and he slips the underneath it, feeling the heat of his skin. Johnny groans and breaks the kiss.

 

“Hey, how do you feel about your clothes?” he asks him, panting, his eyes gleaming.

 

Bucky doesn’t understand the question. “They’re ok, I guess? Nothing special.”

 

“Ok if they get damaged?”

 

“Um…yeah, sure?”

 

He still isn’t sure what he means, but all becomes clear when Johnny ignites the tip of a finger and sears a burning line right down the centre of his clothes. His jeans and t-shirt fall off him, leaving him standing in boxers, socks, and boots, and a moment later, the freezing cold water of the automatic sprinkler system.

 

Bucky glares at Johnny from underneath his dripping bangs.

 

“That looked cooler in my head,” Johnny admits.

 

“Jarvis, it’s ok, I’m not on fire,” Bucky calls to the ceiling, and the water shuts off.

 

“Sorry, Jarvis,” Johnny says, and Jarvis replies “not at all, Mr Storm,” in a serene voice that says he’s absolutely been observing everything that’s happened so far.

 

“Delete that footage,” Bucky adds, and he swears he can almost hear the AI sigh. He reaches for the towel on the back of his bedroom door and towels his soaking hair, wanting to glare at Johnny, but not quite managing it because of how ridiculous all this is.

 

“How many other dates have you nearly immolated?” he asks.

 

“It’s usually ok as long as they’re not wearing polyester and in a well-ventilated area. I guess the sensors here must be pretty sensitive.” Given Tony’s remarkable ability to cause things to explode almost by looking at them, Bucky would say this is a safe bet. “I’m sorry. But hey! Two hot bodies in one room! What’re we gonna do?”

 

It’s impossible to be annoyed at such a one-track mind.

 

“Got a few ideas,” he says, tossing the wet towel at Johnny, who catches it. It steams when it comes into contact with his skin. Then he steps forward, takes hold of Johnny’s wet t-shirt with both his hands, and tears it in two, tossing the ruined fabric into the corner.

 

“Neat trick,” Johnny says, and Bucky says “well, some of us have to do things the old-fashioned way.”

 

It’s as much of a rush to hear Johnny laugh as it is to see him finished getting naked. Which _is_ a rush. Johnny’s body is gorgeous. His skin is tanned, almost golden. He’s muscular and toned, looking so inviting that Bucky doesn’t know where he’d like to touch first. His proportions are insane, broad shoulders and narrow waist, muscular legs, and a cute round little ass. His dick is long and hard, glistening and slick-looking at the tip.

 

Bucky just looks his fill, and Johnny stands there, letting him. The expression on his face tells Bucky that he’s confident he’ll like what he sees, and he’s right. The heat he’s giving off is unbelievable; Bucky could feel it even with a foot or so of space between them, but when they touch, body to body, it’s almost like bursting into flames.

 

“Guess I’d better show you how we do it modern style,” he says. There’s a beat, and he catches Bucky’s eye. “Promise you, it’ll be the _hottest_ you’ve ever had.”

 

Bucky rolls his eyes, wondering whether Johnny’s under some kind of contractual obligation to make a lame pun about fire every thirty minutes or so, and then they almost get stuck up there when Johnny drops to his knees and almost swallows his cock to the root.

 

It’s fast, almost brutally so. He was getting hard from the kissing, but he’s all of the way there within seconds, so quickly it makes his head spin, it’s almost too much for him to process. Johnny’s hands are gripping Bucky’s hips, fingers digging into his ass as he sucks him, his tongue working around the shaft and applying just the right amount of pressure. The heat of his mouth is even more intense when it’s on his dick. Bucky tries to fight not to come too soon, but it’s a losing battle, and he eventually gives in willingly. The intensity of his first orgasm with someone else in over seventy years nearly knocks him off his feet. It feels _so good_ , he needs a few moments to recover.

 

Johnny looks so smug afterwards that he has to laugh.

 

“Don’t be too pleased with yourself,” he says. “Not had a lot of competition recently.”

 

“Shame,” Johnny says, getting to his feet and pulling Bucky in close again. “How’re you meant to know how much better I am?”

 

It’s like listening to himself, years and years ago. He wonders whether the girls and guys he’d tried it on had wanted to slap him, or whether they’d found it as funny as Bucky finds it now. “Do you _ever_ stop?”

 

“Not unless you beg me.” He raises an eyebrow. “If you’re into that kind of thing.”

 

“Not this time,” Bucky says. “This time I want it all.”

 

“Your wish, my command, “Johnny says. “How do you like it? First, ‘cos we can do this more than once, if you want to. As many times as you like, I know what you super-soldiers are like. Just tell me what you want now.”

 

He’s torn, because honestly, he likes it both ways, always did. But then the image of what Johnny would look like bent over and taking him, of the gorgeous contrast between his broad shoulders and his trim waist and the roundness of his ass and how Bucky wants to run his hands over _all_ of it, swims into his mind, and it’s irresistible.

 

“I want to be on top,” he says, “and behind.” Then he follows it up with, “please?” in case Johnny thinks he’s pushy, and Johnny grins.

 

“I love a bit of ol’ fashioned charm,” he says. Then he rummages in his jeans pocket, triumphantly producing a sachet of lube and a condom.

 

“Do you always carry those?” Bucky asks, not sure whether he’s flattered or mildly offended.

 

“I do when I’m hitting up a party of hot superheroes.”

 

“So you always come home with someone after these things?”

 

“Not always, no. Only if I find someone I _really_ like.”

 

“Nice to know I’m special,” Bucky hits back.

 

“I told you,” Johnny says, winking at him. “Just this once, I wasn’t the hottest guy in the room.”

 

It’s overwhelming, being the focus of this much attention; intimidating, almost, but a heck of a rush too.

 

 _To hell with it_ , Bucky thinks, fed up of listening to his thoughts rattling round his brain, and he tackles Johnny to the bed.

 

Johnny goes down with a surprised noise, which quickly turns appreciative when they roll over and he’s on top. Bucky kisses him, catching himself off-guard with how hungry it is. He sucks on Johnny’s tongue and takes hold of his ass, gripping tight and rocking their bodies together. He knows this isn’t the right position for what he wants, but they’ll get there; for now, he just wants the skin on skin. He can feel how hard Johnny is against him, and it’s driving him crazy. He’s hard again too, and he takes a moment to be fervently grateful his fast recovery time. They roll over and over, frantic for contact, hands and mouths greedy for anything they can find. There’s not an inch of his body that isn’t tingling with it, thrilling from the touch. It’s all coming back to him now, how to feel good, how to make someone else feel good too, and he feels almost dizzy.

 

Bucky realises Johnny’s fumbling with something, trying to press it into his hand, and he sees that it’s the sachet of lube he had before. He takes it and tears it open with his teeth, and it splurts everywhere, dribbling over his fingers. Before it can all trickle away, he strokes it over Johnny’s asshole, trying to be gentle despite the urgency he feels.

 

“This ok?” he asks, resisting the temptation to plunge straight in, because _God damn it, Barnes, be a gentleman and wait for permission._

 

“You could use the metal one, if you wanted,” Johnny gasps, winking, and Bucky laughs and says, “maybe next time,” and sticks two fingers into him. Johnny moans enthusiastically and pushes back against him, and he’s so hot inside, and Bucky’s head swims from being wanted so much, from giving pleasure and getting it back. He works his fingers in and out of Johnny, two and then three, feeling him open to him, the muscle relaxing under his attention. _Jesus,_ he’s even hotter on the inside. Good thing he didn’t use his left hand; it’s not a very conductive metal, but he doesn’t want to injure either of them.

 

“C’mon,” Johnny whines, “ _Bucky_. M’ready.” He’s squirming back against Bucky’s fingers insistently, trying to get more pressure, his movements desperate and needy.

 

“OK, OK, take it easy,” Bucky says, sliding his fingers free. “Roll over, get on your hands and knees.”

 

It’s almost funny how eager Johnny is, how fast he moves; he almost bounces off the bed in his excitement, his ass high up in the air, legs slightly spread. Bucky hurriedly fumbles on a condom, somehow managing not to tear it, and then drapes his body over Johnny’s. The heat from him is almost painful now, so intense he’s practically melting. He lines up and plunges inside, gripping Johnny tightly by the hips to get more traction.

 

Bucky lets his teeth graze the back of Johnny’s neck as he fucks him, hard and fast. Johnny’s breathing is coming in gasps and moans and wordless sounds, every one of them sounding punched out of him by the movements of Bucky’s hips. He isn’t going to last long; it’s been too long, it’s too intense, he’s too hungry for release. He looks down, sees where he’s sliding in and out of Johnny’s body, and tumbles over the edge into a brain-melting orgasm, having just enough presence of mind to reach around and give Johnny a few rough tugs to bring him there too.

 

When they’re done and they’ve collapsed into a sweaty, sticky heap, Bucky has what he thinks are several minor burns all over his body, but his brain is finally, blissfully, quiet.

 

 ***

 

“So Bucky’s dating Johnny Storm, huh?” Sam says, in between blocking Steve’s blows.

 

News sure spreads fast in Avengers Tower. Bucky and Storm have barely been an item for a week and somehow everyone knows, even though they’ve been holed up in Bucky’s bedroom pretty much the entire time. Steve gives a wordless grunt, which Sam somehow manages to interpret correctly.

 

“And how do you feel about that?”

 

Steve can hear him very carefully not using his therapist voice, which for some reason he finds incredibly irritating. He puts a bit too much force behind the next blow, and Sam stumbles.

 

“Sorry,” Steve mutters.

 

“So I take it you’re not that pleased?” Sam wheezes, winded, and Steve feels slightly guilty. He shouldn’t be a jerk and take his annoyance out on Sam just because Johnny Storm is an ass. Plus, showing Sam that it bothers him is bound to be a mistake. Nothing escapes him, and he’ll keep pushing, when all Steve wants to do is forget that Storm even exists.

 

“It’s fine,” he says tersely. Sam looks at him sceptically, so he says “it’s _fine_ ” again, hoping Sam will drop it. Sam doesn’t say anything, but adjusts the pads and gestures to Steve to strike again.

 

“It would be ok if it wasn’t fine,” he offers a few minutes later. “It’s a pretty big change, and it’s still recent. You’re allowed to have feelings, Steve.”

 

 _You’re allowed to have feelings_ is one of those things Sam says all the time that sets Steve’s teeth on edge. He _knows_ he’s allowed to have feelings. That doesn’t mean he needs to _talk_ about them.

 

“It can take a little while to adjust, I guess,” Sam continues, and Steve can see him brace himself pre-emptively in case this provokes him to use a bit too much force again. “When, you know, in your time it wasn’t something you could do in the open…”

 

Steve has to think about this for a moment, because he’s not really sure what Sam means. Then he gets it.

 

“You think I don’t approve of him dating a guy?” he says, and Sam nods. Steve has to fight not to sigh with frustration. “Sam. _I_ dated guys. We both did.” _Dated_ isn’t exactly the right word, of course, but he doesn’t feel like going into details. “It’s not like I didn’t know about him, back then, though I’m not sure he knew about me. We both had fellas we made time with. Didn’t need to talk about it.”

 

Sam’s looking at him agog. Clearly Steve needs to be less subtle about his sexuality with his teammates. He thought he’d been fairly obvious, but apparently not.

 

“.....Oh,” Sam manages weakly, after a moment. “Steve. Man, I’m sorry, I just assumed...”

 

“It’s ok,” Steve says quickly. “ _Everyone_ assumes.” He wants to start hitting things again. “You guys didn’t invent bisexuality, you know? We didn’t have the words, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t exist.”

 

Sam looks like he’s continuing this conversation against his better judgement, but he carries on. “So what is it that bothers you about Bucky dating Storm, if it’s not that he’s a guy?

 

“Look, he just annoys me, ok? He’s dumb, he’s conceited, and he’s not at all subtle. He’s always hanging round my apartment, and he thinks he’s so funny, and he and Bucky are thick as thieves, always all over each other, and they never talk to me, and it just...I don’t know.” He runs out of steam towards the end of the sentence and looks down at his hands, checking the tape is done up correctly. It always sucks when he gets it wrong and ends up injuring his hands.

 

“Have you talked to him about it at all?”

 

Damn tape. It’s such a mess. He redoes it so he doesn’t have to look at Sam. “No. We haven’t talked much, since last week.”

 

Bucky has time to be seen by everyone all over the Tower with Storm, but not enough to talk to him, it seems. Maybe he should be the one to make the first move, but that was never how it worked in the past; it was always him who went silent and Bucky who sought him out and made peace. The very idea of talking to Bucky about how much he misses him makes him want to disappear through the floor.

 

“Steve,” Sam says gently. “I don’t want to tell you what you’re feeling, but it sounds like you’re lonely to me.”

 

“I’m not lonely. I just got my best friend back,” Steve says stubbornly, and he can almost _hear_ Sam rolling his eyes, even though he’s still not looking at him.

 

“But he’s found someone else, and you’re still alone,” Sam says, then he stops talking when Steve looks up angrily, ready to protest that he’s _not_ alone, he’s _not_ , he has _loads_ of friends. Sam changes conversational tack at the speed of light. “I mean, you don’t have a _partner_. Maybe it’s time to think about dating someone? Maybe it’s not that you don’t like Storm. Maybe you just want what he has? With Bucky?”

 

This sounds potentially convincing. Perhaps it’s about time Steve started looking for people to date. It _has_ been a while.

 

“Maybe you’re right. I’ll think about it,” he says stiffly, motioning to Sam to lift the pads again, and Sam nods, looking like maybe that’s all he could have hoped for. He waits until Steve’s got a few more hits in before he says, “And talk to Bucky, Steve. If we thought you were upset about him dating a guy, maybe he does too? If he thinks you disapprove, that might be stopping him talking to you?”

 

Steve hadn’t considered that. He’d had received enough blows to the face defending a couple of openly queer pals back in the day that Bucky’d had to know he had no problem with it. Wasn’t that enough? Why did it need stating outright?

 

“And maybe make a bit of an effort with Storm? Get to know him? Stop looking like you want to dump a pail of water over him every time his name is mentioned?”

 

He says nothing, but feels himself flushing a little, hating how effortlessly Sam can pick up on this stuff. He hates that Sam’s response to everything is _talking_. Whatever happened to good old silence, Sam? He vents his feelings with a punch instead, which he pulls more than he wants to, because Sam is a nice person trying to be nice and it’s not his fault Storm is a jerk who makes Steve want to punch things very hard.

 

“He _is_ kind of exhausting with all the fire jokes, though,” Sam admits, sounding much less like a counsellor and more like Steve’s modern-day best friend, and Steve seizes on it gladly, not wanting to be at odds with him.

 

“I know, right?” he says. “Nobody else makes jokes about their powers. Not like you’re always on about birds, or Thor about lightning. It’s so dumb.”

 

“Nat sometimes makes spider jokes,” Sam says, and then he and Steve say together “but it’s cute when she does it,” in perfect unison, and Steve is suddenly really grateful he has Sam in his life.

 

***

 

Bucky is two weeks into this... _thing_ he’s got going on with Johnny, and it’s been the most sexually intense period of his life. The fact that the twenty-first century is a lot more relaxed about this stuff, for the most part anyway, means that he can just enjoy spending time with Johnny, make the occasional foray into the communal areas of the Tower for a bit, like the pool or the common room with the good couches, and then bring him back to his room without needing to wait for cover of darkness or an absent roommate. He’s not quite ready to go out into the real world on a date with Johnny, or to put any kind of name to what they have, but just the fact that he _could,_ if he wanted to, seems huge and even ridiculous. He doesn’t need to worry constantly about being seen or overheard. He doesn’t need to hide what he wants behind layers and layers of euphemisms, or keep it behind closed doors. More importantly, he doesn’t have to hide it from Steve any more. Theoretically, at least.

 

It wasn’t exactly like he’d thought it would... _corrupt_ Steve or anything, before, if he’d known about the kinds of guys Bucky liked taking to bed. He’d run with an artistic crowd, several of whom had very obviously been queer, and he’d got in a fair few fights with assholes who’d wanted to make a big deal out of it. Hell, the size and shape of Steve back then had had people making those kinds of insinuations about him both behind his back and to his face, and they hadn’t exactly been subtle.

 

No, he couldn’t have been unaware of it, and there had been times when Bucky had wondered whether he’d been the only one in their apartment with his particular proclivities, but he’d never known how to bring it up for fear that Steve would be furious if he was wrong. It wasn’t the kind of conversation you could have over breakfast, or one that you could just go back to normal afterwards. He hadn’t wanted to risk losing his best friend; Steve had meant too much to him for that. So he’d carried on trying to get double dates for himself and Steve, and seeing the odd dame solo whenever he’d found one he liked, and they’d never talked about it.

 

If he’s honest with himself, he’s been kind of hiding from Steve. It had been such a rush to have someone else to go places with that he’s been sneaking in and out of the apartment at times when he knows Steve isn’t going to be there, with a little help from Jarvis. The freedom from the constant minding had helped him to push down his guilt at basically abandoning Steve for a little while; it was simply too much fun being with Johnny to really think about anything else. And now he had an added incentive to avoid Steve because the previous day, he’d cornered him in the hallway and they’d had the most teeth-grindingly awkward conversation of their long friendship. Steve had stared determinedly into the middle distance just past Bucky’s right shoulder and intoned that he had no problem with Bucky wanting to date men or having a boyfriend and that he was happy for him, while Bucky had thanked him, in an odd voice that he’d never heard coming out of his mouth before, all the while fervently wishing for the conversation to be over. As soon as Steve had gotten to the end of his little speech, Bucky had fled for his bedroom, and he’s barely left it since.

 

Fine, maybe he should have been the one to initiate the conversation. He’s been a bit preoccupied, ok? Johnny is irresistible, and they’ve been spending whole days in bed, emerging only to find food or to shower before tumbling back into the sheets again. He’s never been so well fucked. Johnny’s powers and his own super serum mean they can keep going for hours, and it’s been so long since he just enjoyed his body and enjoyed feeling wanted. Maybe he hasn’t been the most considerate roommate for the past week or so in terms of the hours he’s been keeping or the noise levels, and he doesn’t exactly miss the feeling of being constantly tailed by the world’s blondest sheepdog, but he needs to make things right. Yeah, he’s annoying, but he misses Steve, and Steve had made the effort yesterday. It’s his turn, even if it’s going to be awkward as all hell.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Johnny asks, scooching closer and sinking his teeth into the back of Bucky’s neck.

 

“Steve,” he says, and Johnny laughs.

 

“For a change.”

 

Bucky rolls over to look at him, and Johnny raises an eyebrow.

 

“C’mon, I know yesterday was bad, but it’ll get better. He just needs time to get used to me.”

 

“You _are_ a lot to take in,” Bucky says, and then they both smirk. It just feels so much _fun_ with Johnny. He hasn’t had fun in a long time. He’d almost forgotten how to do it.

 

“I’ve gotta talk to him, though,” he says, once they’ve both stopped sniggering. “Today.”

 

“Good idea. Clear the air.”

 

“Now?” Bucky asks, but he can already tell the answer from the way Johnny’s hands are cupping his hips, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there. He shivers and leans forward for a kiss.

 

“No. Later,” Johnny says succinctly, and that’s the end of the conversation for a while.

 

***

 

Steve is doing the dishes – _Bucky’s_ dishes, not his, he always does his own dishes – and smouldering silently with righteous indignation.

 

Bucky never used to leave dishes around. Bucky never used to stay out late, or have noisy, energetic sex at all hours of the day and night, or lounge around the apartment looking like the cat that got the canary. And the bite-marks. Steve is trying to not think of the bite-marks.

 

 _He hasn’t looked so much like the old Bucky as he has in the past three weeks_ , says a treacherous voice in his brain, and Steve squashes it immediately. How could Bucky be more himself with someone other than Steve? Steve’s his best friend, the only person he knows in this century. Surely that should mean he’s most comfortable with Steve, out of everyone? But they’ve had a grand total of two proper conversations since Storm blazed into their lives – _damn it_ , he’s got Steve making stupid jokes now too – and they’ve both been awkward as hell.

 

He’d done as Sam suggested and tried to talk about it, but everything he’d planned to say had vanished from his head in the face of his own embarrassment. And then Bucky had tried the next day, had mumbled something about hoping it was ok for Storm to be around all the time, then had apologised for the noise, looking as though he was horrified at himself but unable to stop talking, and they’d both flushed so red that it had looked like they’d been about to develop fire powers of their own.

 

Bucky seemed to think that had sorted things, because since then he and Storm have been much more overt with their relationship, spending a lot of time in the communal area of the apartment, and Steve’s life has gotten approximately 3047% worse. Storm is in their apartment pretty much all the time, leaving his sneakers in the hallway, his endless parade of leather jackets draped all over the furniture, the piles of DVDs and CDs and books he brings for Bucky to look at and listen to cluttering up the place. Everywhere Steve goes, there are signs of him, and that’s before you mention the smell of smoke that lingers everywhere he’s been.

 

What does Bucky _see_ in this loser? He’s loud, he’s obnoxious, he’s dumb as a box of rocks, and he’s an actual fire hazard. The sprinklers go off in their apartment so often the carpet feels like a sponge. Plus the guy’s nothing special to look at. All those muscles, all those skintight t-shirts, no modesty at all. Steve snatches another mug off the side and plunges it into the sink, scrubbing at it viciously and throwing aggrieved glances over to the other side of the kitchen, where Storm is heating up Pop Tarts for Bucky with his bare hands.

 

He tries not to look at the burn mark on the ass of Bucky’s jeans, or the slightly singed edges of his hair, or to listen to their dumb, flirty conversation, even though Storm’s voice is so loud and obnoxious it’s impossible to ignore. He’d expected better of Bucky, really.

 

 _If this jerk makes_ one _more lame fire pun, I will not be held responsible for my actions_ , Steve thinks, and sure enough Storm says “is it hot in here? Oh no, it’s just us,” and laughs really loudly, and Steve accidentally snaps the handle off the mug he’s washing.

 

“Stop it!” Bucky’s laughing. “Johnny, cut it out! You’ll set the sprinklers off again!”

 

He hears Bucky laughing a lot these days – _sometimes through the wall of his bedroom,_ which is _not_ what he likes to think about – and it should make him happy too, but all it does it make him annoyed that Bucky’s never that relaxed around him. He’s Steve’s best friend, after all. _And_ Steve’s jokes are better. And he’s smarter. Why doesn’t Bucky laugh with Steve like that?

 

Is it Steve’s problem?

 

No, it _can’t_ be Steve’s problem, not when he’s interested in guys himself. Sam’s comment last week had struck a nerve. He’s tired of people assuming that because he’s from the 40s, he’s automatically homophobic (and sexist and racist and bamboozled by technology. Pointing out his friendship with Peggy, the diversity of the Howling Commandos, and the fact that he’d been friends with the genius, ahead-of-his-time inventor _Howard Fucking Stark_ never seemed to do any good). He’s got no problem with same-sex relationships. He just doesn’t want a front-row seat for them, _Bucky._

 

He looks over to give Bucky a judgemental glace and sees that Storm is now feeding him pieces of cherry Pop Tart, which actually look mostly burnt.

 

When he looks down, he sees he’s absent-mindedly crushed the mug to powder.

 

“Want a Pop Tart, Cap?” Storm calls from the other side of the room.

 

“No, thank you,” he says, through gritted teeth.

 

Storm and Bucky giggle and whisper something he can’t hear.

 

“Maybe you could help me with the dishes?” he says, and he hears an echo of the way Bucky’s ma used to berate her kids when they were young for not helping out at home in his own plaintive tone.

 

“Oh! Sure,” Bucky says, and he looks apologetic, immediately stopping his canoodling with Storm to come over and help. _Good_ , Steve thinks as he does his best to dredge the mug shards out of the sink before Bucky gets there and to throw them discreetly into the trash. Storm just lolls on the sofa and watches them both.

 

“Don’t take too long, Bucky, remember we wanna catch that movie,” he says.

 

“No worries, Johnny, I’ve got time.”

 

“Don’t take too long, otherwise we’ll need to _hotfoot it,_ ” Storm smirks, and then brays with laughter, like he’s just made the most amazing joke ever. Steve takes a long, slow, calming breath.

 

Then he hears himself say, “Hey, mind if I tag along?”

 

Everyone is stunned into silence by this, not least Steve himself.

 

Why did he say that? He doesn’t want to hang out with them. He’s got more important things to do than go see movies. And yet he can’t go back on it now. _Maybe you should spend time with him, he’s not such a bad guy,_ Sam had said the last time he’d complained about Storm via text. Apparently he was taking this advice.

 

Sam had also accused him of being jealous of Storm, which had made absolutely no sense and Steve hadn’t dignified it with a response, but hey, the guy couldn’t be right all the time.

 

Bucky breaks the silence. “Sure, Steve, if you want?”

 

He doesn’t sound sure that he wants Steve to come, which of course makes Steve all the more insistent.

 

“Sure!” he says, his voice sounding horribly fake to even his own ears. “Let me get my jacket.”

 

“Hey, Cap, can I borrow some pants?” Storm asks. “Mine, um, kinda got ripped.”

 

He turns to show the torn seat of his jeans, just to make sure Steve totally gets his meaning. Even if he hadn’t, Bucky’s incandescent blush would have given the game away.

 

“I don’t think my stuff would fit you,” he says. “Can’t you borrow some of Bucky’s?”

 

“What do you mean, wouldn’t fit? You guys are practically the same size. Plus you have similar wardrobes,” Bucky chimes in, and Steve recoils.

 

“We’re nothing alike!” he protests.

 

“C’mon, Cap, you’ve gotta admit there’s a certain resemblance,” Storm argues. Whatever. Like Steve would ever wear pants that snug. “Just help a guy out, won’t you?”

 

Steve gives a long, disapproving sigh, but says, “Give me a sec, I’ll get you some.” He goes to his room and picks his least favourite pair of jeans, so that it’ll hurt less if they get flamed. They’re certain to be baggy on Storm, who wears his pants so tight he can barely move. He stomps back into the living room and thrusts them into Storm’s hands.

 

Storm, of course, drops his pants _in the middle of the living room, no less,_ revealing ridiculously tight briefs which, ok, Steve did _not_ need to see, and shimmies into the jeans. Which fit him perfectly.

 

Huh. They must have shrunk in the wash.

 

Bucky is looking from one to the other, wearing a complex expression Steve can’t quite decode, but for some reason it makes him feel uncomfortable.

 

“Let’s go,” he says.

 

He’s not proud of it, but he insinuates himself between the two of them as they walk out of the corridor, and continues to hold this position all the way to the movie theatre.

 

***

 

Bucky’s had some pretty disastrous dates in his time, pretty much all of them with Steve in attendance, actually, but this one really takes the cake, especially for his first-ever public date with a man. He’d been nervous enough without there being extra spectators, even though Steve accompanying them had been the most eventful thing about it. Nobody else in the movie theatre had so much as commented – probably because it’s harder to spot a date when there’s an extra person there – and he’d like to feel relieved about that, but instead he’s just indignant about Steve’s behaviour.

 

“ _Why_ did he come with us? Why did he have to sit there between us the whole time?!” he rages. “Doesn’t he know why people go to the movies on dates?”

 

“Well, he didn’t have to come,” Johnny points out. “Why didn’t you just say no?”

 

Bucky can’t really answer this question. “He should just have known not to come! You don’t just come on dates with people.”

 

Although, Steve does. Or did. Bucky remembers him doing this dozens of times when they were younger, like he’d had a sixth sense for knowing when Bucky wanted to be alone with someone and just tagging along. Clearly all that time in the ice hadn’t knocked any more sense into Steve. He thinks back to Steve sitting obliviously between him and Johnny at the movie theatre. _Or tact._

 

Johnny snorts. “Like that was gonna happen. Bucky, you said yourself that he always sticks to you like glue. I’m surprised we’ve managed to avoid him for this long, actually.”

 

“But it’s not like I was going out on my own! I was with you! On a date! What did he think, I was gonna get triggered by the latest Pixar movie and go on a killing spree?”

 

“It doesn’t matter. Forget about it. We can always go on other dates.” Johnny is playing with the waistband of Bucky’s jeans.

 

They can, that’s the amazing thing about the future. They can go on as many dates as they want. But Bucky still can’t let his annoyance with Steve go.

 

“We’ll have to find somewhere to go where _he_ can’t follow us.”

 

Johnny drops his hands, grabs hold of Bucky’s hips. “He’s just looking out for you. Trying to keep you out of trouble.”

 

“What if I want to get _into_ trouble?” Bucky asks, giving in and butting his head gently against Johnny’s. He’s so hot, he can’t help himself, and he’s fed up of being fed up at Steve. The prospect of thinking about something else is a welcome one, especially one that ends in sex.

 

“I can think of a couple of ways we could go about that,” Johnny agrees, finally popping the button open on Bucky’s flies and helping him to shuffle out of his jeans, and Bucky lies back and lets himself think about nothing at all.

 

***

 

Steve has to escape from the oppressive atmosphere in his apartment following the disastrous date that he somehow ended up crashing, so he sends texts to both Natasha and Sam and goes to the one who answers first; Natasha, as it happens, as Sam’s at the VA today. He gratefully goes up to her floor, running up the stairs instead of the elevator to burn off some of his annoyance, where he finds her drinking green tea and watching YouTube videos of cats jumping into boxes.

 

He knows better than to criticise Natasha’s choice of entertainment, so he just grabs a mug, helps himself to tea, and settles next to her on the couch.

 

“Long time, no see, Rogers,” she says, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah, sorry, I’ve been busy,” he says lamely, although recently “busy” has come to mean exercising all of his self-control around Bucky and Storm and not hurling items of furniture at them. He knows he’s getting dull about this – hell, he’s even bored of listening to himself _think_ it – but somehow, he lasts maybe three minutes before his complaints about Storm come spilling out.

 

“Seriously, Nat, I can’t even _breathe_ in there, he makes the air so hot, and – “

 

“Steve.”

 

“– and then yesterday he set the sprinklers off _again_ and I’d just done laundry, and – “

 

“Steve _._ ”

 

“– and what if he hurts Bucky again? Every time I see him he’s got a scorch mark somewhere, it’s not right, he needs someone who – “

 

“ _Steve._ Enough.” Natasha holds up a hand, and he falls silent instantly. “Is Johnny really that bad? He always seemed kind of nice to me. A little shallow, not the sharpest tool in the shed –” and Steve nods vigorously, grateful that at least someone else can see it, “– but not a bad guy. Have you thought that maybe you’re jealous?”

 

 _This again?_ “I’m not jealous of Bucky.”

 

She looks at him strangely. “No, I meant Johnny.”

 

“Why would I be jealous of him?”

 

Natasha opens her mouth to say something, then clearly thinks better of it. “Never mind. Do you have any hobbies? Or maybe you just need to get out there yourself. Have you thought about dating at all?”

 

This is so reminiscent of the stuff Sam’s always saying that he wonders whether he and Natasha are following some sort of script. He’d just kind of dismissed it as the kind of well-meaning but ultimately misguided stuff Sam tended to say, like that it was easy to just go out and meet people, or that it was a good idea to let himself be sad sometimes. But now that Nat’s said it, maybe it might be kind of nice to meet someone. Have someone to spend time with. Go on dates with, hold hands with, make out with. _Someone whose sneakers Bucky could trip over_.

 

“Have you been talking to Sam?”

 

Natasha doesn’t answer that, which Steve takes as a resounding _yes._ “Let me set you up with someone, I know just the guy.” Her tone doesn’t allow him any room for argument. “Now, watch this video. He has three boxes. It’s very hypnotic.”

 

Steve shrugs and turns to look at Natasha’s computer.

 

***

 

The second time Bucky and Johnny go on a public date, it goes considerably better. Nobody else comes along for the ride, and they manage a whole hour’s walk in the park, along with an ice cream, before the sight of Johnny doing obscene things to a cone – “I have to eat it like this! Or else it melts!” – makes Bucky drag him discreetly back to the Tower and put his tongue to better use.

 

***

 

Natasha _does_ actually introduce Steve to a guy, some pretty-boy son of a politician she worked as protection for back in the day, and they have a couple of dates, but it doesn’t really go anywhere. The guy has so much baggage, for one thing, and he’s so _young_. Although they both live in the public eye and can sympathise with each other about the pressures that brings, there’s nothing else that they really have in common, so after a few weeks they decide they’d be better off parting ways.

 

***

 

As the next stage of his extremely cautious and extremely secret public dating plan, Bucky suggests that he and Johnny actually go to that café Johnny mentioned on the day they met. He’s proud of how casual he sounds, as though the idea has just occurred to him rather than being the result of hours of careful consideration and planning. Johnny is delighted, and leads them confidently through the entrance foyer of Stark Tower and out into the street. He humours Bucky by adopting his faster pace, even though his default walk is a stroll in order to give people maximum time to recognise him as he walks past, and he doesn’t get his phone out to take his usually endless selfies. He doesn’t try to hold Bucky’s hand, although their fingers do brush a few times accidentally.

 

It’s stuff like this that makes Bucky realise, with a rush of warm affection, that Johnny is nowhere near as dumb as he pretends to be.

 

The place is predictably large and busy, full of people wearing sunglasses indoors and looking impossibly groomed. Despite how obviously fashionable it is, nobody pays them any attention as they join the queue for drinks. Bucky wonders whether it’s because they’re all entirely absorbed in themselves. Maybe he needn’t have bothered with the hat pulled down low over his eyes, but he obsessively fiddles with the brim anyway.

 

“What’re you having?” Johnny asks.

 

Coffee these days is complicated. Stark’s explained it to him, all the different things – usually in the context of describing Steve as a large iced Americano, which he seems to think is the funniest thing anyone has ever said – but he can never remember. Jarvis just gives him what he likes automatically, without him having to ask. He’s uncomfortable being the focus of the barista’s attention and so orders the first thing he sees on the menu, which is apparently a thimble-sized cup of coffee which costs nearly $5.

 

The barista hands it to him and somehow he fumbles the cup, managing to spill the miniscule amount of coffee all over himself. He yelps with surprise, and the empty paper cup skitters across the floor.

 

 _Fucking idiot,_ he thinks, flushing furiously. _Can’t even pick up a cup of coffee._ And he’d thought it was going so well. He wants to bolt, convinced that they’ll be recognised and feeling his courage disappear all in one go. But Johnny gives a light touch to his arm, bends to pick up the cup, and tosses it into the trash, after an apologetic gesture to the barista.

 

“Hey, don’t worry about it,“ he says. “Easily done. You ok? You didn’t burn yourself?”

 

Bucky shakes his head. “I’m sorry. So stupid.” His jeans and jacket are soaking, though mercifully the coffee was in his metal hand. He stills feels horribly vulnerable and obvious. His breathing is coming faster than he’d like, but he can’t seem to stop trembling. People must be staring. They’re holding up the queue; the hipster asshole behind them is tutting impatiently. He takes a step to the side so that he’s no longer tempted to punch the guy in the face.

 

“I didn’t expect to get you hot and wet again this early,” Johnny says in an undertone, and Bucky flushes even more, though he’s grateful for the distraction. “Do you want another one? We can get back in the queue.”

 

He doesn’t want to be here any more, not around all of these people, but he hates himself for giving up. It’s just coffee. It’s just a spill. Why is he so upset about it?

 

“Hey,” Johnny says, when it’s been a few seconds and Bucky’s still fighting with himself. “We can just go. No harm done, and there’s coffee at home, right?”

 

Bucky accepts defeat and nods gratefully. Nobody has noticed them or said anything; the world is continuing around them, barely impacted at all. Nobody has seen him out with a man. Nobody’s going to try to hurt him or Johnny. It’s the twenty-first century, dating a guy is fine, and he can try again later. And so Bucky lets them abandon this painfully cool coffee shop, and gets to go home with his painfully hot guy.

 

***

 

Steve has coffee a few times with a young doctor who Sam knows through volunteering at the VA. He’s cute, with a fun sense of humour and a sweet caring side, but his shifts are crazy, almost worse than the Avengers shifts, and in the end they just don’t get enough time to see each other and call it off.

 

***

 

Bucky can be almost as stubborn as Steve when he feels like it, and so he insists that he and Johnny return to the hipster café after he’s had a couple of days to calm down, this time having studied the menu in advance so that he can get something he’d actually like to drink and not something pathetically small. He orders and receives the coffee without incident, and so to celebrate he also orders the biggest piece of cheesecake from the display case.

 

He and Johnny sit in a booth and share it with two spoons, and he lets Johnny hold his hand for a few seconds. Nothing bad happens, if you don’t count Johnny melting the spoon when he holds onto it for too long. The cheesecake is delicious. Bucky gives a long, slow breath out, sagging with relief into the seat, and lets himself enjoy this.

 

***

 

Stark sets him up with a socialite, and it’s kind of fun for a couple of dates, but he’s so shallow, and Steve isn’t really equipped to navigate his complicated social networks while pretending to be a ‘friend’ as the guy’s still in the closet. The sex is hot, but as there’s only so many times Steve can sleep with someone hot but boring, _Bucky take note_ , he breaks up with him in favour of looking for someone who won’t keep dodging cameras every time they’re out together.

  

***

 

“Just one picture?” Johnny wheedles. “C’mon, I’ll be subtle!”

 

“Have you ever been subtle in your life?” Bucky asks.

 

“Well, no, but there’s a first time for everything! We don’t even have to be touching in it! I’ll just tag it with something like ‘WinterTorch’ or ‘WinterFlame’ and it’ll get people talking. I haven’t posted a picture in forever. My followers might start to think I’m dead.”

 

“You posted a picture three days ago,” Bucky reminds him, and he has to fight not to roll his eyes. He just doesn’t get what the point of it would be. And he doesn’t want to “get people talking.”

 

“Yeah, so, _forever._ What about if it’s just your arm?”

 

“ _Definitely_ not the arm. That’s the most identifying part of me!”

 

“OK, so how about your other arm? That’s not identifying. It’s just an arm.”

 

“So then why post it at all?”

 

Johnny huffs. “Because! I like posting stuff.”

 

Bucky doesn’t really know how to navigate this conversation. He and Johnny are sitting in a fancy rooftop bar just a couple of blocks away from the Baxter Building, looking out over the skyscrapers. It’s a sweltering hot day, but the bar is mercifully cool, even when you’re in proximity to Johnny. They must have an excellent air conditioner in here, because they’re also ostentatiously displaying bowls of chipped ice set on ornate pedestals, which Bucky kind of wants to plant his face in. There’s an excellent view of the city too, almost as good as the one from Stark Tower. Bucky concentrates on the people walking down on the street. He can see three dogs from up here. Neat.

 

“I just want to show you off, is that so wrong?” Johnny’s saying, and Bucky forces himself to stop counting dogs and listen, because apparently that wasn’t the end of the conversation.

 

“I don’t think I’m ready for that. Being your boyfriend.”

 

“I didn’t say ‘boyfriend’,” Johnny says, sounding a little annoyed. “I just want everyone to know I’m hanging out with an awesome hot guy who I _may_ be sleeping with. Don’t be such an old man!”

 

“I am an old man,” Bucky points out, and that makes Johnny give a small laugh, breaking through his irritation a little.

 

“OK,” he says. “I get it. I’m sorry. I don’t want to rush you. I won’t post anything until you say it’s ok.”

 

“Thank you,” Bucky says. “I just need a little time.” He hopes that’s true. Somehow being able to be open about all of this stuff now hasn’t made it any easier to navigate, which doesn’t seem fair.

 

“I only want to show you off,” Johnny says again. “Make everyone jealous.”

 

“Jealous?” Bucky asks. “Why would they be jealous?!”

 

“Because first of all, you’re hot, and second of all, you’re hot,” says Johnny flippantly. “And third of all, I think you’re pretty great.”

 

“No, _you’re_ hot,” Bucky replies, the easy flirtatious grin that accompanies most of his conversations with Johnny finding its way onto his face almost absent-mindedly; it’s easier to focus on that than the other thing, which makes him feel awkward and embarrassed. Then he looks around. “Oh no.”

 

“What?”

 

“Seriously, Johnny, you’re hot. Look at you. You’ve melted all the ice.”

 

“Aww, man.” All around them, the ice in the fancy bowls has melted into puddles. The two bowls closest to them are actually steaming.

 

“Did you choose this place on purpose?” Bucky asks.

 

“No! I had no idea about the ice! I promise!”

 

Bucky believes him, but he still looks a little shifty.

 

“Do you get some kind of a kick out of causing fire-related problems?”

 

“Noooooo,” Johnny says, with a wide-eyed innocent expression that clearly says, “yes.”

 

“How many years have you had these powers and you still like messing around?”

 

“What?! It’s fun, it’s harmless, and it gets me noticed, doesn’t it?!” Johnny says, and winks. Then he whips out his phone and takes a photo of himself next to one of the melted bowls, pulling an exaggeratedly sad face. “There. That’ll keep the fans happy for a while.”

 

He strolls over to the bar. Bucky watches while he settles up, making sure to place himself carefully away from any of the pedestals so as to look less conspicuous. Johnny leaves a huge tip to apologise for the inconvenience, and the waitress looks a little starstruck and not the least upset about it, once Johnny poses for a picture with her.

 

Bucky feels a little guilty for forcing Johnny to avoid the attention he so obviously craves, but still. He’s not ready. Not yet.

 

***

 

Some guy claiming to be a former Olympian hits on Steve at a gay bar and offers to show him his medal, which Steve is pretty sure is a come-on rather than that he carries his _actual_ medal around, but tempting though it is (he’s _super_ fit and looks like he’d be amazingly athletic in bed) the guy gives off a major douche vibe, so Steve decides to give him a miss.

 

***

 

When Johnny suggests going to a water park, Bucky throws up his hands in exasperation, his usual concern that they might be recognised entirely overridden.

 

“You’ll evaporate everything in there within five minutes! You can’t seriously think that’s a good idea, not after last time!”

 

He and Johnny look at each other for a few long seconds before Johnny cracks.

 

“OK, that time I was messing with you. Sorry.”

 

***

In a somewhat humiliating turn of events, pretty much everyone who has ever been connected to the Avengers is now trying to find Steve a date. When T’Challa offers to set him up with a prince from some minor royal family – who looks hot, but there’s no way Steve can cope with royalty, so he declines – he decides it’s time to consider Natasha’s _other_ suggestion.

 

“Don’t you have any hobbies?” she’d asked. Well, yes. Once he’d drawn obsessively, carried a sketchbook with him at all times, filled it with pictures of passersby in the street, of the people he saw in bars and cafés, of Bucky in their small apartment. He’d had piles of them underneath his bed when he left for the war and still has no idea what happened to them.

 

He’s hardly picked up a pencil since awakening in the twenty-first century. There’d been a few times when he’d felt that itch in his fingers, that need to just sit down and study things and bring them to the page, but it had always been at inconvenient times, when there had been nothing to hand, or when he’d been too tired.

 

He recognises those thoughts now for the excuses that they are, and so he takes a trip into the city to pick up some new pencils and paper. He knows he could probably find that stuff somewhere in the Tower, or order it online, but he wants to go _out_ suddenly, choose the materials himself, rather than dwell on his own loneliness. And if he goes a little crazy in the art store, well, nobody needs to know. When he leaves, he’s weighed down with three bags’ worth of stuff and feeling pretty pleased with himself. The smell of the art store alone had lifted his spirits. Maybe next time he’ll buy some paints.

 

When he gets back to his apartment, the feeling of itchiness back in his fingers, he spends a long time looking for something to sketch. But he sees nothing to inspire him; the space seems sterile and empty, nothing jumping out at him. He makes a cup of coffee to kill time and wait for inspiration, and he contemplates arranging some fruit or something in the centre of the table, but he’d always been terrible at still lifes. He preferred people, catching their likeness, trying to transfer their essence to the page.

 

He’s just wondering whether he should go see whether there’s anyone on the communal floors to sketch when he hears voices in the hallway, and his heart sinks. It can only be Storm and Bucky. He thinks about fleeing, but his stubborn streak tells him that he’s not going to be driven out of his own home, especially not by a jerk like Storm. Quickly, he settles himself at the kitchen table, even though the light isn’t great there, and opens the sketchbook. Casting his eyes around, he decides to randomly start sketching his view of the living room, in the absence of anything else to draw.

 

Bucky and Storm amble into the apartment a moment later. Bucky’s holding a large cardboard box, which Steve recognises as coming from the local bakery. Storm has his hand in the back pocket of Bucky’s jeans, which makes Steve snap his pencil at the sight of it. Good job he brought a whole box of them, then.

 

“Yo Cap!” Storm shouts, making his way to the couch. _Why does he have to talk so loudly indoors?_ He disentangles himself from Bucky and throws himself down on it

 

“Storm,” Steve says, looking away to select another pencil. Bucky, however, comes over to set the box down in the kitchen and sees what he’s up to.

 

“You’re drawing again?” Bucky asks. “I haven’t seen you sketching in ages, Steve, that’s great!”

 

Bucky’s tone of voice is so surprised and pleased that it startles Steve into looking up. The smile on his face is so _warm_ , so out of place on the Bucky he generally sees these days, that for a moment, it’s like old times, like the old Bucky’s back and he just got home from another day at the office with something for dinner and some far-fetched stories about his boss to make Steve laugh.

 

“Yeah, thought I’d give it a try,” he says, feeling oddly shy. For a moment, they just smile at each other, and his heart aches for how things used to be.

 

Then of course Storm has to ruin it.

 

“You draw? I didn’t know that!” _It’s literally in every biography of him there’s ever been that he was an artist, but OK, maybe Storm can’t read._ “Can I see?”

 

He’s half-getting up from the couch, but Steve hurriedly says “No!” and throws his hands over the sketchbook, even though he hasn’t even drawn anything worth protecting.

 

“It’s just...I haven’t finished it yet,” he says lamely. He doesn’t want to share this with Storm, or anyone other than Bucky.

 

Storm shrugs and sits back down again. “Sure, ok, _sorry_ ,” he says, mock-offended, and Steve hears Bucky sigh from behind him and take a plate over to Storm on the couch.

 

He wordlessly sets a small plate down by Steve as he goes. On it is a single, solitary donut. Steve recognises it as an apple pie one, his favourite flavour, and something of the warm glow from earlier returns.

 

Storm and Bucky sit on the couch, watching something mindless on TV, chattering quietly, and eating their way through the rest of the plate of donuts. Steve tunes out all the sound and continues his sketch. Storm isn’t half so annoying when you’re not listening to what he’s saying.

 

The pleasant focus that always settled upon him before whenever he was drawing or painting fills his mind, and he’s entirely focused on sketching the living room, the way the light from the window and the light from the TV illuminates Storm and Bucky draped around each other on the couch. Bucky is curled into Storm’s side, his head resting on Storm’s chest. He looks peaceful, more relaxed than he’s looked in weeks. Steve spends a lot of time trying to get the exact texture of his hair, the softness in his eyes. He’s drawn Bucky so many times before, but never in this century. He has to work hard not to draw him as he used to look out of sheer muscle memory.

 

He loses time drawing, now mostly looking away from the living room to concentrate on tidying up the image, so focused that when he finally looks up, his coffee cold beside him, his donut completely ignored, he realises that Storm and Bucky must have left the room at some point without him even noticing. The light in the room has completely changed; he’s lost a couple of hours, at least. He realises he’s starving. Closing the sketchbook carefully, he crams the donut into his mouth and eats in it three bites. Then he takes the book back to his room and puts in into a drawer, safe from prying eyes, before slipping out to find himself some dinner.

 

***

 

Buoyed by the success of their recent dates, Johnny suggests skating at the Rockefeller Centre.

 

Bucky is suspicious about this, given the ice-related venue, but Johnny promises him that it’ll be ok, and so he agrees. He only really says yes because Johnny’s so enthusiastic about it, but as soon as he gets there, he feels like he’s made a mistake. For one thing, the place is crowded, full of excitable tourists with their phones and cameras, and unlike the usual blasé New Yorkers they’ve encountered on their other dates, these guys are actually not ashamed to look excited or interested in stuff. For another, they last about three seconds on the ice before it’s a giant puddle, despite what Johnny said before they left. And for a third, once they _have_ managed to liquidise the ice rink, all of those tourists turn their phones and cameras onto them.

 

Fortunately nobody is hurt. Johnny styles it out like a pro, flashing smiles, posing for photos and signing everything that keeps still long enough, while Bucky sits awkwardly on the sidelines, wishing he’d had more sense than to let Johnny talk him into this and hoping he won’t be recognisable in any of the pictures. He pulls his baseball cap a little lower and tries to look inconspicuous, fiddling with the laces on his skates. Johnny looks like he’s having the time of his life.

 

“You said this was going to be ok!” Bucky mutters through gritted teeth, once Johnny – finally free of the crowd and compensating everyone there with a free beverage from the snackbar and as many pictures of him they could want – makes his way back over to him, walking awkwardly on his skates. Johnny’s grinning from ear to ear.

 

“I assumed it would be! Guess I was wrong. I haven’t been skating since I got my powers.”

 

Johnny doesn’t seem bothered at all; like it’s all a joke. Bucky has never understood how Johnny can see his abilities as a game. He can’t help comparing him with Steve when his powers were still new to him, when he didn’t know his own strength and was constantly damaging things and feeling guilty about it. Johnny just laughs it off, and Bucky’s both envious of him and irritated that they’re still attracting attention from curious skaters while they wait for the ice to freeze again.

 

Johnny hasn’t noticed and is still beaming. “Guess we probably shouldn’t try and skate again. What do you wanna do now? We could go to the park? Or go get pizza? Or coffee?”

 

All of those are things with more _people._ Bucky’s not sure he can handle this. The attention is making his skin feel itchy, and all the progress he’s made over the past few months seems to have disappeared. He’s annoyed with Johnny for putting him in this position, and he’s annoyed with himself for freaking out about it. It’s just some people taking a few pictures; nobody’s even approached them, let alone said anything. So what if anyone sees them and recognises them. It’s fine.

 

But it doesn’t really feel fine.

 

“I think I just want to go home,” he says. “Do you mind?”

 

Johnny’s eyes gleam and he raises an eyebrow. “ _Really_?”

 

That actually wasn’t where Bucky was going with that, but ok, sure, he could be persuaded. And if it gets them out of there… He nods, and even manages to summon up a wink, and Johnny’s eyes gleam.

 

“OK, great! Just let me get these off.” He bends down to unlace his skates, giving Bucky a glorious view of his ass (he tries hard not to stare, but is only partially successful), and then springs back up again, still in an unassailable good mood.

 

“Lead the way, soldier,” he says with a grin. Bucky manages to keep his wince to a minimum, and gratefully heads out of there.

 

***

 

Steve spends a lot more time on Grindr than he’d care to admit wondering whether “out-of-town eccentric milliner and father of one seeks open-minded company and no questions asked” is some kind of metaphor he just doesn’t get before flinging his phone over to the other side of the room and officially deciding to give up on dating.

 

***

 

Bucky hasn’t seen Johnny since he left after their trip to the ice rink a couple of days earlier, but that’s ok. It’s been kind of nice to have a bit of space to himself. He’s curled up on the couch, a cup of forgotten coffee beside him, reading a book and trying his best to ignore Steve, who’s banging about in the kitchen in that ostentatious way he does when he’s trying to make a point that he’s not talking. Bucky stares at the same page for a few minutes while wondering whether it’s worth trying to engage Steve in conversation, but before he can decide, Steve speaks first.

 

“Bucky, your _friend_ is outside the window again.”

 

It’s not common knowledge, but along with being great with a shield and with reckless acts of daring do, Steve Rogers is the _king_ of passive aggression. Stands to reason really, he’s so good at _aggressive_ aggression that all other forms probably come naturally to him.

 

Steve hasn’t said what his problem is, or why he’s been so cold with Bucky recently, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it’s probably something to do with Johnny again. Not like he has any other friends who visit him via the window.

 

“I don’t complain when Sam flies in,” he points out, because he can’t resist poking Steve a little bit.

 

“ _Sam_ isn’t likely to do any damage to the glass or the furniture,” Steve responds, through gritted teeth.

 

Bucky ignores this, because it’s pointless to deny that that’s a risk.

 

“Can I let him in?” He hates that he’s asking, so he corrects himself and says, “I’m going to let him in,” walking over to the balcony and flipping the catch. Johnny deflames and steps inside.

 

“What’s wrong with the door?” Steve asks, in a falsely pleasant voice.

 

“Window’s cooler. Or, should I say, _hotter_ ,” Johnny says, winking. He reaches into his flameproof bag and pulls out a trashy magazine, brandishing it. “Look, Bucky! We made the papers!”

 

Bucky reads the headline on the front cover, which is WINTER STORMS AHEAD? TORCH'S NEW FLAME. Accompanying it is a picture of him and Johnny from the skating rink, in which Johnny’s hand is clearly on his ass.

 

Bucky recoils in horror before he can stop himself. The sight of the picture sends a horrible cold feeling tumbling into the pit of his stomach. He wants to throw the magazine in the trash, go back into his bedroom, hide under his bed, and never come outside again. Why did he let Johnny talk him into going? _Why?_

 

“Lame, right? I can’t stand bad puns.” Johnny tosses the magazine onto the table, and Steve gives a loud tut.

 

“Did you know they were going to print that?” Bucky asks, and he’s proud of how normal his voice sounds.

 

“No,” Johnny says. Then he takes in Bucky’s expression, and adds, “But don’t worry about it! It’s just stupid gossip magazines, nobody pays attention. I’ll just add it to my collection. Maybe even frame it.”

 

In Bucky’s experience, it’s not quite right that “nobody pays attention” to gossip magazines, although he appreciates Johnny’s attempt to make him feel better. He knows it’s different for Johnny, _knows_ he loves the limelight, knows this isn’t his fault, but he still hates it. The idea of being on a magazine cover with someone’s hand on his ass, vulnerable, on display, makes him want to curl up and die.

 

“Don’t frame it,” he says stupidly, because he can’t think of anything else to say.

 

“OK, then, I won’t. But maybe I’ll keep it as a souvenir. Our first cover!”

 

 _First?_ Does that mean there’ll be others? How could he ever have thought he’d be ok with the relationship being public? Why is _Johnny_ so keen on it being public? He instinctively takes a few steps away from the window, picking up his mug just to have something to do with his hands.

 

“Don’t you want to finish that?” Johnny asks, gesturing to it.

 

“Nah, it’s cold.” He suddenly wants to be somewhere else, somewhere where Steve isn’t watching them, because he can feel Steve gearing up to get involved in the conversation and he doesn’t want him to.

 

“It’s cold? Hey, let me warm it up for you.”

 

“No, it’s ok…” Bucky starts, but Johnny has grabbed the mug.

 

“Flame on!” he calls, igniting one hand.

 

“Johnny, wait…” Bucky says, but it’s too late; the mug shatters, shooting shards of china and boiling coffee everywhere. Bucky gets it full on his flesh arm, and a fragment of china grazes his cheek. He gasps, more out of shock than out of pain, and Steve jumps up and says “that’s _it,_ ” in a very menacing tone.

 

“Don’t you have heatproof mugs?” Johnny asks.

 

“ _No_ , because _neither of us sets everything on fire_ ,” Steve snarls, with more ferocity than Bucky’s ever heard from him outside of a confrontation with an opponent. Even the usually unflappable Johnny looks taken aback, and he takes a few steps back, palms up.

 

“Woah, woah, big guy. It’s ok. I’m sorry, it was an accident.”

 

Bucky tries not to wince at the _big guy._  He knows Steve hates that and it’ll only make things worse. Sure enough, Steve’s nostrils flare, and he takes a step or two towards the window.

 

“You need to stop,” he says.

 

“No, _you_ need to stop,” Bucky counters, moving to stand between them before things get really nasty. “Johnny, go wait in my room. I need to talk to Steve.”

 

Johnny looks for a second like he wants to argue, but catching sight of both Steve and Bucky’s expressions, he seems to think better of it and does as Bucky says. Once he’s safely out of the room, Bucky rounds on Steve.

 

“What the hell, Steve?!”

 

“He _hurt_ you!” Steve yells.

 

“He didn’t mean to! It was an accident! I’ll heal, I always do.”

 

“Enough people have hurt you without me stopping it,” Steve snarls, and Bucky can’t help it, he laughs.

 

“Bit melodramatic. I’d hardly put an accidental coffee burn up there with Hydra.”

 

“He keeps injuring you! I’ve seen the burns. On...on your clothes.” Steve is flushing bright red, though whether it’s from anger or embarrassment, Bucky can’t tell.

 

“He doesn’t mean to. That’s just how he is.”

 

“Yeah, because he’s such a big dumb jerk he can’t control his own powers.”

 

“And I’m such a damsel in distress I don’t know what’s good for me?”

 

Steve has no answer for that, which gives Bucky a mean sense of satisfaction. “What have you got against him? Maybe you just can’t deal with the fact that I’m dating a guy, after all, no matter what you said before?”

 

“What?”

 

The look on Steve’s face is something he can’t read, but Bucky’s building up a righteous head of anger now and barrels recklessly on. This is the longest conversation he’s had with Steve in weeks, and if it has to be an angry one, so be it, but it’s a relief to just be _talking_ to him again.

 

“You heard me! It’s _fine_ to date guys now, Steve, if you didn’t notice? You’ve had years to get used to it, it ain’t 1940 anymore, and…”

 

“Bucky, shut up.”

 

“I’m gonna date whoever I want, and I won’t let you tell me who I can and can’t date!”

 

“Bucky, _I’ve_ been dating guys, if you hadn’t noticed!”

 

“What?”

 

“I’ve been dating guys since before I came out of the ice. I’ve dated several of them since you started dating that jerk. I’ve _always_ been interested in guys.”

 

“ _What?!_ ”

 

“I might never have told you, but it’s true.”

 

Bucky gapes at him, unable to speak for several moments. Steve, interested in guys? Steve, _dating_ guys? Steve, dating guys and not telling him? What the hell?

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

 

Steve is looking defiant. “Why do I have to tell you everything?”

 

“You don’t have to tell me everything, Steve, but you could at least tell me the important stuff!”

 

“Well, why didn’t _you_ tell me about _your_ guys?”

 

“Because...because... That was different! It was different, back then.” He’s scrambling to justify himself, even though it sounds lame even to his own ears. Because it hadn’t been necessary. Because that part of his life – of each of their lives, apparently – had been entirely separate from their friendship. What would have been the point?

 

“Yeah, bit different to now, with your _magazine covers_ and _gossip articles_.”

 

“It’s _one_ cover,” Bucky hisses, “And I didn’t want it. Tell me who –”

 

“No, that’s his style, isn’t it? Just a stupid, shallow, dumb celebrity. You’re smarter than that, Bucky. You deserve better.”

 

That’s such an insufferably self-righteous, stupid, _Steve_ thing to say that it makes Bucky lose his temper all over again. He knows his own mind. Why can’t Steve accept that?

 

“You always think you know best!” he snaps. “Well, you don’t. Why don’t you just let me get on with my life, and you can get on with yours.” _Like you_ have _been doing, apparently_. “Maybe you’ll be on a magazine cover yourself next week and that’s how I’ll find out who you’re dating. At least I told you to your face.”

 

“Only when you were forced to!” Steve yells, but Bucky is done with this conversation, pushing past him and striding into his room, where Johnny is sitting on his bed, eyes wide.

 

“I didn’t hear any of that,” he says.

 

“Sure you didn’t,” Bucky says. “We were practically whispering.”

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“Not really.” _It was bad enough having to talk about it once._ He’s trembling, all keyed-up from yelling and half-tempted to go back in there and yell some more, although he’s got no idea what he’d say. He can’t quite get past the revelation that Steve’s been into guys this whole time. Who has he been dating? Where did he meet them? Is it serious?

 

“I really didn’t have anything to do with that picture, though,” Johnny says. “I’m sorry, I just thought it was kinda funny and wanted to show it to you.”

 

The picture, which had been such a big deal, seems inconsequential now in the face of Steve’s revelation.

 

“And I’m sorry I burned you. That was an accident too.”

 

“It’s ok! It’s fine!” Bucky says distractedly. “You’ve done it before, probably do it again. That _big dumb jerk_ in there just can’t chill out.”

 

“Well, I can’t help him there,” Johnny offers, in a lame attempt to lighten the mood, but Bucky’s not in the mood for Johnny’s usual jokes.

 

“I don’t believe him,” he rages. “Why didn’t he tell me he was into guys? Why not just tell me instead of trying to make me guess? Not like I would have minded.”

 

“Bucky, slow down, ok? Just chill out. What does it matter if Steve’s been dating anyone? That’s a good thing, right? Can’t you just be happy for him?”

 

 _No._ “Tryn’a make me notice. It’s so pathetic. Not like I would have cared. Who’d want to date him?” Bucky mutters, angrily pacing the room and ignoring Johnny. The thing is, he _knows_ he’s being a massive hypocrite, but it helps if he concentrates on his anger instead of thinking about it.

 

“Just calm down, Bucky, hey?” Johnny says. “Let me take your mind off it.”

 

He reaches out and puts his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, getting him to sit down on the bed.

 

“Yikes, you’re tense,” he says, squeezing his shoulder muscles, and _yeah_ , Bucky is tense, he just learned that his best friend has _basically been lying to him_ for years. He’s really not in the mood for this. But Johnny is insistent, smoothing out the knots, and after a few minutes of fighting it, Bucky gradually lets his breathing come back to normal.

 

“It’s just, I didn’t know,” he says lamely, after a few minutes of silence.

 

“Well maybe you guys should talk,” Johnny says, digging his thumb deep into the muscles around Bucky’s collarbone. It feels good. Johnny’s hands are always so hot, and it soothes the tense muscles.

 

“After what he said about you?”

 

“Those things he said that I didn’t hear? I’ve heard worse. Like I said, he’s looking out for you.”

 

“Why are you so calm about this?”

 

“Because it’s not _my_ best friend who just came out to me. C’mon, Bucky. Just let it go for now. Go talk to him once you’ve both calmed down. And right now, let me make it up to you about the mug.”

 

The burn has already faded, and the cut on his cheek barely even bled, but he appreciates what Johnny’s trying to do, so he tries to focus on the touch of his hands rather than on the thoughts jangling around his brain. It’s starting to feel good, even better when Johnny’s fingers start toying with the neckline of his t-shirt, a clear offer to take it off.

 

It’s impossible to be around Johnny and not want sex eventually. His body’s so enticing, and combined with the massage that’s slowly working Bucky into a puddle of soothed nerve-endings, it’s too much to resist.

 

Bucky lifts his arms and lets Johnny tug the shirt over his head, turning to face him so they can kiss. They help each other out of their clothes until they’re down to just underwear and lie down side-by-side on Bucky’s bed. When Bucky licks and bites down his neck, his skin is so hot to the touch he’s surprised it doesn’t steam.

 

“This way?” Johnny asks, cupping Bucky’s ass, and Bucky hums his agreement. Johnny makes a delighted sound and flips him over, looming over him and reaching for the lube. Bucky settles himself face down, tilting his hips slightly to help Johnny get him out of his shorts. Johnny works him open with his hot fingers, so hot it walks that thin line between pleasure and pain, massaging his hole with the same single-minded focus with which he massaged his shoulders.

 

It’s going to be good, Bucky can feel it, looking forward to all the tension of the past few hours working itself out of him. This is the longest he’s been without sex since he and Johnny got together, and he isn’t going to last long. He spreads his legs wider as he’s entered, pressing his face down into the sheets that smell on them both, enjoying the warm weight on top of him that presses his cock down into the comforter, with a delicious firm pressure that drives him insane.

 

He’s going to come. He’s going to come, and it’s going to feel so good.

 

“Oh God,” he moans, “Steve… _Steve…_ ”

 

It takes a split second for Bucky to realise he’s made a terrible, horrible mistake. Johnny stills, then slides out of him, somehow getting to the other side of the room before Bucky’s even sat up.

 

“Of course,” he says quietly. The expression on his face is one of calm resignation.

 

“Johnny, wait…”

 

“I’m gonna go, Bucky.”

 

He opens his mouth to argue, realises he has nothing to say, and then closes it again. Johnny manages to look so _dignified_ naked, which doesn’t really make sense. Bucky watches as he walks to the window and opens it, feeling frozen to the spot, as Johnny ignites himself and flies away.

 

After several long moments, he finally regains the power of movement. He walks over to the window and closes it, then goes back to sit on his bed.

 

 _Shit_.

 ***

 

Steve has run up all seven flights of stairs between his floor and Natasha’s and is halfway through a furious opening sentence when Natasha meets him at the door, her feet bare and her hair wrapped up in a towel, blocking his way in.

 

“Steve, if you’ve come here to bitch about Johnny Storm, I am _not interested._ ”

 

She looks so hostile, somehow ferocious even in only a towel, that Steve takes several steps back. “What?”

 

“I just came back from a mission, I am exhausted, I want a bath and some dumb movies and some relaxing company. I do _not_ want to listen to you complaining about your best friend’s boyfriend _again_ , ok? If you can’t figure out what’s going on in your head and you don’t want to date anyone else, I suggest you find something else to do with your time. Don’t you have anything to do besides being permanently pissed off?”

 

Natasha’s never so much as snapped at him before, and it feels like missing the top step going upstairs to see her so mad. He wants, absurdly, to burst into tears, and it must show on his face, because Natasha’s expression softens slightly.

 

“Look, Steve, I’m sorry. I know you’re having a hard time. But Sam’s tried, and I’ve tried, and we’re fed up. You need to deal with this like a grown up.”

 

“Deal with _what_ , Natasha?”

 

“Do you seriously _not know_?”

 

He doesn’t. He feels like he should, the way Natasha’s looking at him, but he doesn’t, and her face is on its way back to being annoyed again.

 

“Steve,” Natasha says, her tone clipped and precise, “ _You are in love with Bucky._ He’s with someone else, it sucks, but you just need to fucking deal with it, because the rest of us are fed up of listening to how much you hate him. Particularly as the guy looks just like you. Don’t you think that means something?”

 

“I do _not_ look like…” Steve starts, and then he replays the earlier part of the conversation. “I’m _what_?”

 

Natasha throws up her hands. “I told you I don’t want to talk about this, and here I am talking about it! You’re an idiot, Steve, the smartest idiot I know, but an idiot nonetheless. Now you need to go back home and talk to him, because I am _done_.”

 

And she slams the door in his face.

 

Stunned, Steve just stares stupidly at it for a few moments, before it dawns on him that he really shouldn’t hang around here in case Natasha comes back to yell at him some more. He takes the stairs again, but this time, instead of being fuelled by righteous anger, he walks down them like a sleepwalker, and somehow ends up in his bedroom on autopilot without realising how he got there. Natasha’s words are still reverberating around his head. _You are in love with Bucky._ It can’t be true. You can’t be in love with someone and not know it. Can you?

 

He’s rummaging through a drawer, still not really aware of what he’s doing, and he looks down at his hands to see that he’s pulled out the drawing he did of Storm and Bucky a couple of weeks ago. When he looks at it more closely, it jumps out at him, and he wonders how he didn’t see it before.

 

He hasn’t drawn Bucky and Storm. He’s drawn Bucky and _him_. That soft smile on Bucky’s face, the warmth and tenderness between the two figures, the affection pouring out of every line, it’s all about the two of them. _That’s_ what he wants. And he wants Bucky to want it too. _He loves Bucky._ How did he not realise that? How had Natasha known it before him? And what in the world is he going to do about it, when Bucky has someone else and may never speak to him again?

 

 _It’s ok to have feelings, Steve._ Ok then, Sam. He’s about to have a whole bunch of feelings. Steve sets the picture down, puts his head in his hands, and lets himself cry.

 

***

 

There’s a tapping on his window which is too insistent to ignore, so Bucky drags himself out of bed. His heart sinks. It’s Johnny, flames on, floating gently outside. He opens the window a crack so that they can talk.

 

“Hi Bucky,” Johnny says, voice horrendously level. Bucky can’t bring himself to answer, so he gives a lame little wave.

 

“Look, I think we need to talk about what happened last night,” Johnny continues, as though they’re having a reasonable discussion instead of one in which Bucky wishes he could disappear into the floor.

 

“Do we have to? Can’t I just stay in the Tower for ever and ever and never talk to anyone ever again?”

 

“You’re talking to me now,” Johnny points out, hovering closer. He can feel the heat of him through the glass.

 

“Only because if I don’t and you melt your way in Stark will have my hide.”

 

“Charming,” Johnny says. “You know, you could really hurt a guy’s feelings.”

 

Bucky gives a short, hollow, humourless laugh. “Like I didn’t already?”

 

“Well, yeah. Can I come in?”

 

Bucky opens the window fully and Johnny floats in gracefully. He flames off, revealing his jeans and t-shirt, along with the familiar flame-proof rucksack he carries for things like this.

 

“You’re not still naked?”

 

As soon as he’s said it, he feels stupid. He’s seen Johnny’s wardrobe; it’s got enough clothes in it that he could wear it all and wouldn’t have to do laundry for a year. One abandoned set on Bucky’s bedroom floor won’t make any difference. Johnny’s expression is communicating all of this to Bucky, so he says, “Sorry. Stupid.”

 

“How do you know I’m here to talk to you, anyway?” Johnny shoots back. “Maybe I just needed to pick up my phone. Can’t risk losing those selfies.”

 

“Don’t do that,” Bucky says, unable to help himself. “Stop pretending to be shallow all the time. You know you’re not.”

 

Johnny clicks his tongue, sounding irritated, but only mildly. “We’re gonna talk about that instead of the fact that you called me your best friend’s name during sex last night?”

 

“I…”

 

“Who you also won’t shut up about, and who looks quite a lot like me?”

“He _doesn’t_ look like…”

 

“You and he are literally the only two people in the world who don’t think that. Even _Reed_ noticed, and he never sees anything that’s not science, or my sister. I mean, have you not seen the memes? Because there are memes.”

 

Bucky doesn’t say anything. What is there to say?

 

“Bucky,” Johnny says gently. “You know you’re in love with him, right? Steve?”

 

 _“What?!_ ”

 

“You’re in love with Steve. It’s ok. I should have seen it from the start.”

 

“But I’m not!”

 

“Bucky, think back to all the times we’ve hung out over the past few weeks, and think about how much of that time you’ve spent complaining about Steve.”

 

“But…”

 

“It’s ok! I didn’t realise either, not until yesterday. But I thought back over it, and it’s the only thing that makes sense. And I’m guessing that that argument you had yesterday means that he feels the same about you.”

 

Bucky sits, stunned, rolling that idea around in his brain. Him. In love. _With Steve_. It makes so much sense. It’s stunning how much sense it makes. It doesn’t even shock him, really; it’s like Johnny’s just reminded him of something he knew all along. He loves Steve. And maybe Steve loves him back. Right. Of course he does! How could he not have known that?

 

“You’re not as dumb as you pretend to be, you know,” he says finally.

 

Johnny grins. “I think that’s a compliment? Guess I’ll take it as one anyway.”

 

“Certainly a lot less dumb than me.”

 

“Ah, that makes it more of a compliment. Don’t tell anyone, ok? You’ll ruin my image.”

 

“Why aren’t you more upset about this?” Bucky asks him. “Doesn’t it bother you?” _Don’t you care at all that I was in love with another person while we were together?_ is what he really wants to ask, although it seems churlish.

 

“Look. Bucky. We have a lot of fun together. You’re a great guy. I hope we can be friends and hang out, and I really sincerely mean that. But we said this wasn’t going to be serious, right? And I know that wasn’t what you wanted, even though I was maybe starting to want more. But the way you reacted to that cover yesterday really should have told me that you didn’t feel the same.”

 

Bucky feels humbled by the admission. He’d never suspected that there was anything more under Johnny’s breezy flirtatiousness. But then he hasn’t exactly been observant of his own feelings either. “Johnny, I’m sorry, I…”

 

“It’s ok. You belong with Steve, I see it now. If seventy years and everything Hydra did to you couldn’t keep you apart, then I don’t think I stood a chance, did I? Even if I _am_ marginally better looking.”

 

“You’re not mad?”

 

“I’m a _little_ mad. I’ll miss hanging out with you, and I’m sad I never got to post pictures of us. And like I said, I think I was starting to fall for you. But I’m a big boy, I’ll get over it.”

 

Bucky raises an eyebrow at that and Johnny sniggers.

 

“I’ve taught you well.” Then he looks thoughtful again. “Seriously, Bucky, no hard feelings.”

 

The two of them stare at each other, waiting to see which will crack first.

 

“You are _the worst_ ,” Bucky says, and Johnny grins.

 

“I know. But I do mean it. I hope you can work things out with Steve. You’ve both been through so much, you deserve happiness. Now go get him.”

 

This is an unwelcome reminder of how much Bucky has managed to screw things up; somehow in all the heart-to-hearts he’d forgotten that he hasn’t _actually_ told Steve yet that he’s in love with him, or heard from Steve that he feels the same. That seems like an insurmountable task. He looks helplessly at Johnny, suddenly aware of how much he has to lose if Steve rejects him.

 

“He won’t,” Johnny says, and Bucky starts; did he say that out loud? “You didn’t say anything, but I can see it in your face. Go get him, Bucky. And invite me to the wedding.”

 

Johnny makes to pat him on the shoulder, but at the last minute he swerves and catches Bucky in a hug, just for a couple of seconds, letting go before Bucky has time to react. Then he gathers up the bundle of clothes, which he stuffs into his rucksack, flames on, and then flies out of the window.

 

If Johnny can be open about his feelings, Bucky can too. Bucky takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and goes next door to talk to Steve.

 

Of course, because he seems to be messing up absolutely everything these days, it takes him most of the day to _find_ Steve, who isn’t in his room or anywhere else in the apartment. He won’t answer his phone, and it takes an embarrassingly long amount of time for him to think of asking the talking building to tell him where Steve is.

 

 _“Captain Rogers is in the gym, Sergeant Barnes,”_ says the ceiling, and very generously doesn’t add, _“and you don’t deserve to talk to him, you gigantic asshole,”_ which Bucky appreciates. As soon as he hears it, he wants to smack himself in the forehead. Big or small, Steve has always wanted either to punch things or to draw them as an alternative to having feelings.

 

Sure enough, he finds Steve standing amidst a sea of busted punching bags, sand littering the floor. It’s like being at the beach.

 

Bucky doesn’t really know how to begin, so he stands on the other side of the gym for way longer than is necessary watching Steve. He’s wasting what looks like his fifth or sixth one, completely absorbed in destroying it. It’s kind of awesome to watch, actually, and Bucky appreciates the view, even as he feels a little guilty for objectifying him. How has he never noticed how beautiful Steve is before? Of course Steve is beautiful. He always has been.

 

He’s just trying to work out how to open this conversation when Steve tears the bag with a particularly vicious-looking blow, and it flies several feet across the room and bounces into the wall. Steve gives a long sigh and turns to fetch another bag from the pile by the door.

 

As he does so, he catches sight of Bucky. It’s not exactly like he’s hard to miss.

 

All of the air seems to leave Bucky’s body with a _whoosh_ and he makes an involuntary gurgling, choking sort of sound. Steve doesn’t say anything, just fixes Bucky with a look that’s first expectant and then, when he still hasn’t said anything as he’s fighting against his own body – _was this what Steve used to feel like, back in the day? –_ disappointed.

 

From the front, Steve looks tired. Exhausted, even. Bucky wonders how long he’s been there.

 

With a Herculean effort, Bucky gets his breathing back under control enough to say “Steve?” and nothing else.

 

It’s such an inadequate thing to say that Steve’s momentarily softened expression hardens back into disappointment again.

 

“Bucky,” he says, and then he turns away and bends to pick up the busted bags, busying himself so that he doesn’t have to even look at Bucky, and Bucky wants to curl up and die.

 

There are a few more moments of tense, unbearable silence, and Bucky hates it. They’ve had their fair share of fights and silences before, fought like cats and dogs back when they were roommates and chewed each other out constantly during the war, but nothing ever felt as final as this, even during one of Steve’s many champion sulks. It’s like there’s an invisible wall between him and Steve, like he couldn’t get to him even if he was standing right in front of him.

 

There might be one thing that can bring the wall down, so he has to try.

 

“Johnny and I broke up.”

 

The fixed set of Steve’s shoulders drops minutely, which Bucky takes as an encouraging sign. Otherwise, he continues scooping up the bags.

 

“We broke up because...because…” _come on, Barnes, you can do it,_ “because he told me I’m in love with you.”

 

Steve fumbles the bags in his hands and they drop to the floor, making far more noise than empty canvas bags should. Bucky braces himself while Steve slowly gets to his feet and turns around, but his face is still guarded. The wall is still there.

 

“ _He told you?_ ” he says, and Bucky realises his mistake instantly.

 

“I mean, I _realised_ I’m in love with you. With, um, a little help.”

 

He has to fight with himself to keep looking at Steve, not to screw his eyes tightly shut or run out of the room or disintegrate into a pile of ash. He forces himself to breathe slowly in and out while he watches Steve’s face. It’s impossible to read him, and it’s utterly nerve-wracking. He tries to hold on to the small spark of hope inside him, the one Johnny lit up when he’d said _“go get him,”_ like it would be that easy, but it gets harder and harder with each passing moment. His eyes are aching from the effort not to blink, but he’s determined not to look away.

 

More silence. Finally, Steve says something.

 

“Why’d it take him to tell you, then?”

 

“Because I’ve always known it.”

 

“That doesn’t make sense, Bucky.”

 

“Yes it does! Because I’ve _always_ loved you, Steve. I don’t even remember when I started. I just didn’t realise that was what it was.”

 

It’s almost frustrating, how blindingly obvious this is, and Bucky wants to scream at how Steve just won’t _get_ it. But nothing with Steve is ever easy, and this is no exception. Instead of welcoming Bucky’s confession of love with the shy delight or eager passion he’d hoped for, Steve’s face is still set, closed-off, stubborn.

 

“Bucky, you’ve barely _spoken_ to me for weeks. You’ve been parading your guy around our apartment and fucking him six ways till Sunday every God-damned night on the other side of my bedroom wall. So you’ll have to forgive me if I missed that you were secretly trying to tell me you loved me.”

 

Bucky cringes, but Steve is building up steam now, his voice loud, his anger pouring out like the sand from the broken punching bags.

 

“And what do you mean, _always_ loved me? What about before the war? All those guys down at the docks? All those girls you took out dancing? Did you have to sleep your way through half of Brooklyn before you could get around to telling me? Were you just trying to tick a couple more people off the list before you could let me know that actually it was _me_ you wanted? Waiting for me to crack first and tell you I loved you so you wouldn’t have to risk anything?”

 

Bucky freezes. _Did Steve just…? Oh. Yes. Yes, he did._

 

“Hah! So you _do_ love me!” he says triumphantly, and Steve looks furious, at Bucky and himself.

 

“Yes, I do, OK? My whole life. Are you happy now? Because ever since you came back, it’s like you’ve just been putting up with me, like you’re only here as a favour to me or because you had nowhere else to go, and I was trying _so hard_ to make everything ok for you, and then you started dating Johnny and all you wanted to do was spend all your time with him and not even _look_ at me. So tell me, what, exactly, was it that he could give you that I couldn’t?”

 

“I think I just wanted someone who would treat me like a _person,_ Steve!”

 

***

 

The words hang in the air, ringing like a bell, and Steve doesn’t understand.

 

“What do you mean, treat you like a person? I treat you like a person. Of course I do.”

 

Bucky snorts. “No you don’t. ‘Are you ok, Bucky?’ ‘Are you sure you want to go out, Bucky?’ ‘Let me get that for you, Bucky.’”

 

“I don’t sound like that!”

 

“Yes, you do! Once I heard you _growl_ at Barton for getting too close to me!”

 

“ _He was right in your personal space,_ ” Steve says through gritted teeth. “I didn’t want him to crowd you!”

 

“Because you don’t trust me to behave myself?”

 

“ _No._ Because I want to _protect_ you, Bucky! Like I...like I couldn’t before.”

 

Bucky stares at him, speechless.

 

“Steve, you don’t mean when I fell from the train, do you?”

 

“I should have sent you home as soon as we got you out of that factory, Buck.” The words pour out of him. He can’t stop them; he’s been holding them back for over seventy years. “I could see you weren’t yourself, and I just ignored it, because I was so happy to see you again and be able to fight with you, watch your back…”

 

“That wasn’t your fault!”

 

“...and I should have sent you _home_ , kept you out of danger…”

 

“And you’d have done the same if I’d asked, would you? Like you did when I asked you to stop trying to get yourself recruited?”

 

Steve ploughs on, ignoring him, because that’s _not the same_. “If I’d just made you go home, you’d have been _safe_ , none of this would have happened.”

 

“Yeah, pal, and I’d be _dead_. Or in my second century. Maybe we’d never have seen each other again. Did you think of that?”

 

He hadn’t, and Bucky takes advantage of his momentary silence to get his piece in.

 

“Look,” he says. “I spent half my life trying to keep you safe when we were young, and you ignored every last thing I did. Wouldn’t take my coat when it rained. Wouldn’t let me pay for your pills. Wouldn’t let me drag your ass out of fights unless you were already on the ground. Don’t you think you’re being a _tiny_ bit hypocritical here?”

 

“But...I mean, I was just small and sick, Bucky. You were _tortured_ , you had all that shit in your head, people wanted you dead…”

 

“Not here in the Tower they didn’t. Not even Stark, and let’s face it, he kinda had a reason. I wasn’t getting anywhere with you being my guard dog, Steve, and it wasn’t making you happy either.”

 

“Of course it was making me happy! I got you back. That was _all_ I wanted.”

 

“No, Steve. The happiest I’ve seen you in the past few weeks was when you were drawing. When you were around me, you didn’t look happy. You just looked like you were on another mission.”

 

“Bucky, _no_ …”

 

“Yes! I don’t know what you were before, but it wasn’t happy. Neither of us was happy with you treating me like a bomb that was gonna go off.” He rubs his eyes, and Steve notices how tired he looks. “I know I’m fucked up, ok? But you can trust me not to go crazy and murder your friends, and you can trust your friends to look after me. Even the ones that only really put up with me because they care about you so damn much, like Wilson.”

 

“Sam likes you…” Steve starts, but Bucky interrupts him.

 

“No, he doesn’t, not really. But he’s a good guy, and he’s been a far better friend than me recently. Getting to live with you again, after everything that’s happened...it’s more than I ever dreamed of, and definitely more than I’ve ever deserved. I’m so sorry I didn’t let you know that. I always wanted to be here with you. I should have told you every day.” He pauses, and then says the thing Steve has been dreading him saying for months. “But...but if you want, I can go. Live somewhere else. Because I’ve been such an idiot.”

 

“No! No way!” Steve says. “Besides, not exactly like you can move in with Storm now, is it?” He’d been terrified of Bucky announcing he was going to do that any day.

 

“No,” Bucky says. “I think that bridge is kinda, um, burned now, on account of me calling him ‘Steve’ during sex.”

 

Steve has to replay that in his head to make sure he’s heard properly.

 

“You did _what?!_ ”

 

“Called him the wrong name.”

 

He can hardly believe it. “Why’d you do a dumb thing like that?”

 

“You haven’t noticed there’s maybe a passing resemblance between the two of you? That maybe that was the reason I was dating him in the first place?”

 

“On _purpose_?”

 

“No! I didn’t notice it at first. It was Johnny who pointed it out. There are memes, Steve.” Steve wonders whether he should ask to see them, but decides now isn’t the time. “Anyway. I was mad at you, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I called him ‘Steve.’ And he left. Then this morning we talked and he told me that I’m in love with you.”

 

“Again, you had to have someone tell you?”

 

“And you figured it out all for yourself, did you?”

 

OK, Bucky’s got him there. “Natasha _may_ have said something,” he admits. “Before she threw me out of her apartment for constantly bitching about Storm.” He laughs, suddenly, lets himself really laugh for what feels like the first time in ages, laughs so hard it hurts. Apparently he’s great at nearly dying for Bucky and awful at just talking to him. “ _Jesus_ , why are we so terrible at this?”

 

“Can we blame it on being from the past and repressed?”

 

“That’s what everyone else thinks. You should have seen Sam’s face when I broke the news that I’ve dated guys. He looked like he wanted to get on a charger and defend my honour.”

 

Bucky sniggers. “Why does everyone think you’re such a boy scout?!”

 

“Because they don’t know me like you do, Bucky. No one does.”

 

It’s instinctive to say it, and he does mean it, but they both have to consider for a moment, whether that’s still true.

 

“Even after what you said yesterday?” Bucky says tentatively. “I was wondering if I even knew you at all.”

 

“Of course you did,” Steve says. “You do. It was just this one thing.”

 

Bucky’s still looking sceptical. “The tiny insignificant matter of the kinds of people we want to sleep with?”

 

“Yeah, that.”

 

The relief that washes over him, realising he can still talk to Bucky without one of them yelling. It’s wonderful, like waking from a nightmare to find that everything’s ok. He wants to grin, but it feels inappropriate when they still have all this stuff to hash out.

 

“You should have told me, Steve,” Bucky says. “Why didn’t you?”

 

“Because I was too busy being a big jealous jerk?”

 

Bucky laughs, and Steve’s missed that sound. “It’s easier when you say it for me.”

 

Talking about feelings with Bucky is just as difficult as talking about them with everyone else, it turns out, but Steve makes an effort to find the words. “I thought I was jealous of you, finding someone, at first. But I realised I was jealous of him. I wanted it to be me.”

 

He admits it to himself now, out loud, for the first time, and the look on Bucky’s face, the confirmation, makes his heart stop for a second or two.

 

“Steve.” Bucky takes a tentative step closer, then another, then another. “Do you think we can stop chewing each other out and go back to the part where we love each other?”

 

He laughs. “Yeah, ok. That sounds like the easier bit.”

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t realise how I felt,” Bucky says. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you any of it, before. I should have.”

 

“Yeah, well, me too. And I’m sorry I was mean to Storm. He’s a good guy.”

 

“He is,” Bucky agrees, “But he’s not you. And I want you.”

 

Hearing it is such a thrill. Is this what Sam means about it being good not to bottle things up? He’s right. It’s fantastic.

 

“I want you too.”

 

They’ve both been coming gradually closer, and now there’s just a couple of feet separating them.

 

“We’re going to need to talk about this,” Bucky tells him. “A lot. But I want you to kiss me first.”

 

“I can do that,” Steve murmurs, and when he does, stepping forwards so that he can finally, _finally_ hold Bucky close, every bad feeling of the past few months melts away.

 

***

“Bucky, are you nearly ready?”

 

Bucky sighs.

 

“Yeah, just a minute,” he calls.

 

Steve comes back into the room from the shower, his hair damp, his skin pink and clean. He’s wearing Bucky’s favourite jeans, which are just tight enough without being obscene, and a t-shirt which, for him, is fairly modest.

 

“Nice shirt, Steve, I can barely see your nipples.”

 

“You’re still in bed!” Steve says indignantly, ignoring Bucky’s teasing, which is probably a good thing, because he’s still on slightly shaky ground when it comes to pointing out Steve’s similarities to Johnny.

 

“Yep,” Bucky says, smirking and stretching luxuriously, making sure to arch his back all the way, as much because he knows what it does to Steve as because he’s still feeling stiff from all their activities last night.

 

“We were meant to be there half an hour ago!”

 

Bucky continues his stretch but otherwise doesn’t move. “Yep.”

 

“So...are you going to get up?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Fine, then I guess I’ll go without you,” Steve huffs, and that would be fine, because Bucky would much rather stay in bed than go to another one of Stark’s dumb parties, but he has a better idea.

 

“Nuh-uh,” he says. “I bet I can make it more worth _your_ while to come back to bed than you can make it worth _my_ while to get up.”

 

Steve recognises the challenge, and a slow grin spreads over his face, his eyes gleaming.

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

Bucky smirks. “Yeah.”

 

Steve, who never needs much persuading to get into bed, crosses the room almost in a single bound, and Bucky rolls over to make space for him on the bed, pushing himself free of the comforter. Steve’s clothes are rough on his naked skin, so Bucky wrestles him out of them and flings them away. They make out lazily, wet and slow, pawing at each other like a couple of teenagers while they harden up again. Steve, the world’s noisiest kisser, is humming his appreciation as Bucky sucks on his tongue, and Bucky loves every second of it. Knowing he can make Steve feel good is the biggest rush he’s ever felt.

 

“Hmm?” Steve asks, like he can hear what Bucky’s thinking.

 

“I love you,” Bucky says, because he can, and because he does.

 

“Love you too.”

 

Steve is nuzzling into his neck, which is driving Bucky crazy. He rolls onto his back, pulling Steve with him, and there’s an awkward moment where they grapple about before Bucky succeeds in gripping Steve by the hips and flipping him over so that he can rub his cock against his ass. Bucky slides his fingers down Steve’s crack to gauge whether he’s up for anything more, and Steve answers him with an enthusiastic moan, pushing back against Bucky’s touch. _Excellent._ Steve isn’t as loose as he was last night, but when Bucky pushes a tentative finger inside him, there’s still a trace of slickness. Steve moans again.

 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Bucky whispers in Steve’s ear, letting his teeth catch gently on the rim of it. “We can go again, right? Nice and quick, just one more, gotta have you baby.”

 

Steve shudders and squirms, pushing back against his fingers.

 

“Love it when you talk like that,” he whines, although Bucky can feel from the heat of his face that he’s blushing. He’s never really felt comfortable running his mouth with anyone the way he does with Steve; maybe it’s because of how Steve always responds so positively to it.

 

“You ready for me, or you want some more slick?” he asks.

 

“M-more, just a little...been a few hours,” Steve says, and so Bucky stretches over to the nightstand and rummages around for the bottle, trying to keep Steve on top of him at all times while his other hand still plays with his hole. He manages it, though it’s a near miss on a couple of occasions.

 

He hands the slick to Steve, who flips it open and drizzles some onto his fingers. Then he reaches back to find Bucky’s hand and together they stretch him open. It doesn’t take long; Steve is ridiculously responsive, opening up like a dream. With his other hand, Bucky pins him down so he can’t squirm away from the sensation.

 

“Tell me when you’re ready, sweetheart,” he says, and Steve makes a whimpering sound, but no further response.

 

“Tell me,” Bucky insists, nipping Steve’s earlobe again, and Steve shudders and says, “now, Bucky, _please_.”

 

It takes a little more shuffling, but they somehow get lined up, and then Bucky’s sinking into Steve. Steve tilts his hips to let Bucky get deeper inside him, spreading his legs a little so that Bucky can be in him right up to the root. Bucky anchors him there, left hand on Steve’s chest, right hand entwined with Steve’s left. He can feel the jump of Steve’s heart underneath his metal palm, the heave of his ribcage as Steve’s breathing gets faster and more ragged.

 

“Bucky…” Steve pants, his head tilted so that he’s breathing his words across Bucky’s mouth. “Feels so good, so deep.”

 

They’re so close like this, like they could just merge into one person. Bucky thinks about that, about Steve being part of him, sharing everything with him. It’s all he’s ever wanted, and now, finally, he has it. Steve is his, and he is Steve’s, and they can spend the rest of their lives doing this if they want to. He reaches for Steve’s cock, and he’s almost too late; Steve fists his free hand in the sheets as his orgasm hits, crying out. Bucky muffles his own cry in Steve’s shoulder as he follows him, the clench of Steve’s body drawing him over the edge, and he thinks that he and Steve are part of each other in every way that matters.

 

***

 

“Oh, Rogers, Barnes, so nice of you to join us, two hours late and _definitely_ not looking like you’ve been up to no good,” Stark calls over. Steve flushes like a beacon, but Bucky just squeezes Steve’s hand reassuringly and they head straight for where Steve’s teammates are sitting. Bucky can feel Steve tense, almost like he’s expecting an attack, but they agreed this would be what they’d do, and he’s never known Steve back down from anything.

 

The core Avengers are all sitting on the gigantic cluster of couches that’s in the centre of the room. Stark is in the middle, of course, holding court like he always does; Ms Potts is next to him, looking elegant as usual, and Rhodes is on his other side. Bruce, his lab goggles perched absent-mindedly on his forehead, is on another couch talking animatedly to Thor’s tiny scientist girlfriend, while Thor himself is taking up a third couch entirely to himself. Barton and Natalia are flanking Wanda, looking for all the world like two of the planet’s most intimidating parents, while Wilson, his arms full of bottles, has just arrived from the bar.

 

Everyone instantly stops talking to look expectantly at them. Barton tugs on Natalia’s arm and starts whispering something, but she stomps on his foot to shut him up.

 

“Listen up,” Bucky says. “Me and Steve. We’re, um. We’re a thing.” He wishes his voice was a bit steadier, or that he’d thought about what he’d been going to say before opening his mouth, but he’s started now, so he has to carry on. It’s not going as terribly as it might have done. “Anybody got a problem with that?”

 

He stares them all down, trying to look as intimidating as possible.

 

Natalia is the first to break the silence.

 

“Thank _God_ ,” she says, looking pointedly at Steve. “You’re both going to be much more pleasant to be around now you’ve finally sorted your shit out. It was getting unbearable.”

 

“Yeah, _finally_ ,” Wilson pipes up, and Bucky kind of wants to upend one of those bottles he’s carrying over his head, but the way he’s smiling, like he’s genuinely happy for them, stops him.

 

“I have no problem, but I have many, many questions,” says Stark. “First of all, how does it feel with the arm –,” but he’s stifled almost immediately by Ms Potts clapping one of her perfectly manicured hands over his mouth.

 

Bucky is more-or-less successfully preventing any other commentary through the medium of his most intimidating stare when there’s a horribly familiar voice from across the room.

 

“Hey, Bucky!”

 

He looks over and sees Johnny bounding towards them, and as one, every single Avenger turns to watch too, with facial expressions ranging from polite interest (Ms Potts) to outright smirks in anticipation of some juicy drama (Stark) and everything in between. Bucky even sees Barton fiddling with his hearing aids to make sure he catches everything.

 

“Hi, Johnny,” he says, pointedly turning his back on the entire pack of nosy bastards, and walks over to him, dragging Steve in his wake. Steve’s palm has started to sweat slightly.

 

Like the rest of the Avengers, Johnny glances down at Bucky and Steve’s joined hands, but his response is easier to read.

 

“No way! You guys are together now?” he asks, grinning delightedly.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky says cautiously, wondering how to play this. Sure, Johnny pretty much gave him his blessing, and he _looks_ happy enough, but maybe he didn’t expect it to be this soon? Maybe it’s all a front?

 

“That’s great! You look great together, you really do,” Johnny says, and his face looks so sincere and open that Bucky wants to laugh, because he’s never looked more like Steve. OK, maybe there isn’t more to this.

 

Steve clears his throat awkwardly.

 

“Look, St... _Johnny_ , I wanted to say…”

 

“No need, Cap,” Johnny interrupts him, but Steve ploughs on regardless.

 

“No, let me say it. I’m sorry I was such a jerk to you.”

 

“That’s ok,” Johnny says graciously. “I’m sorry I cockblocked you.”

 

Steve doesn’t seem to know what to do with the word _cockblocked_ in such an awkward conversation, so he just splutters for a moment before Johnny rescues him.

 

“It’s fine,” he says. “You two were made for each other. Like I told Bucky, just invite me to the wedding, and we’ll be even.”

 

Steve stops his spluttering and laughs, looking grateful and flushing a gorgeous, delicate pink. “Yeah, ok.”

 

“Bucky?” Johnny says, and, after casting a quick glance at Steve to check he approves, Bucky hugs him.

 

“You’re a great guy, Johnny,” Bucky says. “Thanks for telling me what I was too dumb to see.”

 

“Hey, no worries,” Johnny says airily. “Was nice not to be the dumb one for a change. And _this_ ,” he gestures to them both, to their joined hands, “is a good look on you both.”

 

Bucky can almost feel a lump rising in his throat.

 

“I’m sorry for messing you around,” he says, and Johnny grins.

 

“Seriously, it’s fine. Anyway, enough seriousness! You two crazy kids should go enjoy the party. Or go home and enjoying being _not_ at the party.” He raises an eyebrow suggestively, and Bucky can feel Steve’s about to start sputtering again when he hears another, unfamiliar voice say, “Steve?” and they all turn to see who’s spoken.

 

There’s a young man walking towards them. He’s cute; dark, artfully tousled hair, nice clothes, big pouting pink lips and eyes alight with a glint of mischief. There’s something oddly familiar about him, but Bucky can’t put his finger on what it is.

 

“I didn’t know you’d be here!” says the new guy. “Oh, is this Bucky? You told me all about him, I figured there was something between you two. Good for you, man!”

 

Bucky makes a note to ask Steve about this later, because clearly there’s something he’s missing, and Steve’s pretty blush darkening to an incandescent glow only confirms his suspicions.

 

“Oh, hi, TJ,” he says, shuffling his feet. “How are you?”, but before this TJ guy can answer, Johnny steps in, full flirt mode engaged.

 

“Hey Cap, who’s your friend?” he asks.

 

Steve blinks, but makes the introductions.

 

“Johnny, this is TJ Hammond. Tony, um, introduced us a while back. TJ, this is Johnny Storm.”

 

“Hel- _lo_ , TJ Hammond,” Johnny says, looking him up and down with eyes full of salacious intent. It makes every look he’s ever given Bucky look like the chastest of glances by comparison.

 

“ _Hi_ ,” TJ says, nibbling on his lower lip, and the temperature in the room seems to go up a few degrees while they stare at each other and ignore everything else around them. Good _God_ , does nobody have any decency in the twenty-first century?

 

“We’ll be going then,” Bucky says, a little louder than he intended, even though it’s obvious they’re not listening. “C’mon, Steve.”

 

Johnny and TJ ignore them completely in favour of some of the most obscene eye-fucking Bucky has ever witnessed, and as he turns to go, he has a sneaking suspicion that the subject of _coffee_ is going to be raised any moment now. He’s a few steps away when a thought occurs to him, and dropping Steve’s hand, he grabs for his phone and taps out a quick text.

 

“What was that?” Steve asks.

 

“Texted him the access code to one of the guest floors. Figured I owed him one, and this way they’ll save everyone else the show. Look at them, they’re about three seconds from breaking public indecency laws.”

 

He sees Johnny reach for his phone and read the text. His eyes light up, and he shows TJ the screen. They both smirk, and then they’re beating a hasty retreat, hand-in-hand, and Johnny swoops by them to whisper “thanks” in Bucky’s ear on their way out the door.

 

“That was good of you,” Steve says, watching them go. “Enabling the desecration of Stark’s guest suite.”

 

“Hey, maybe they’re each other’s soulmates,” Bucky says, grinning.

 

“Not sure whether either of them are the soulmate type.”

 

“Well, you never know,” Bucky argues. “Besides, Johnny deserves a chance at this too.”

 

“At what?”

 

Bucky leans over to kiss him. “ _This._ What we have.”

 

“You’re such an old sap,” Steve complains, but he looks happy about it.

 

“Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me now,” Bucky says.

 

“What, not even tempted by the sight of your old… _flame_?” Steve asks, and the look on his face tells Bucky he’s _ridiculously_ pleased with his own joke.

 

“Lame,” Bucky tells him.

 

“What are you gonna do, _fire_ me?”

 

“Are you sure you’re not Johnny in disguise?”

 

“All I’m saying is, it worked for him, maybe it’ll work for me.”

 

“You don’t need anything to work for you, Steve. Just be you. That’s all I want.” The expression on Steve’s face is almost unbearably soft, so Bucky feels compelled to add, “Or at least make jokes based on your own powers. Get your own material.”

 

“I’ve got everything I need right here,” Steve answers, his eyes still bright. He glances quickly around to check they’re not being watched, and then, daringly, leans forward to kiss Bucky on the cheek, and there could be a hundred cameras pointing straight at them and Bucky wouldn’t mind at all.

 

He _could_ , if he wanted to potentially ruin the moment, say something about having his own source of heat. He _could_ say that being with Steve makes him feel warm and safe, like he’ll never be cold again, like being in love with Steve makes him feel like he’s burning up from the inside. If he wanted to needle Steve, to pretend this doesn’t mean anything to him, to stay safe. But he doesn’t. Just this once, after such a long time of wanting, hiding, denying himself, Bucky decides to let himself be happy.

 

“Me too, sweetheart. Me too.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Find us on Tumblr  
> Zilia [@ms-zilia](https://ms-zilia.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Trish [@frauargh](http://frau-argh.tumblr.com/)


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